


Et mors, vitae (In Death, Life)

by fancyh



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:05:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyh/pseuds/fancyh
Summary: The Helicarriers are down. Hydra is burning. The Winter Soldier, infamous Hydra assassin, has finally been captured by Shield Agent Steve Rogers. But nothing is as it seems, and as Steve starts to pull away the man from the myth he makes a horrifying discovery that will change everything. Guilty, or innocent? It's up to the world to decide.





	1. Chapter 1

Steve stares through the one-way viewing window, watching as the man cuffed to the reinforced chair in the interrogation room sits still and silent, staring ahead blankly. He's dressed in white scrubs, metal left arm gleaming under the harsh lights and long hair dangling around his face in limp strands. His eyes are dead, the edge of a bruise visible on his temple. He'd been knocked unconscious when they'd taken him in, thankfully, as he'd fought with terrifying intensity that suggested he wouldn't be taken alive. Steve is still nursing three cracked ribs and a bruised cheekbone from their fight, and he's enhanced.

They have no idea who the man is yet, only that he is the infamous Hydra assassin known as "The Winter Soldier" who has been operating for ten years, responsible for dozens of political assassinations and much more that they probably don't know about yet. This is the first time they've managed to capture him or even come close, the man like a ghost who has eluded authorities time and again without fail, the only reason they've succeeded now due to a mass takedown of Hydra and dumb luck, the Winter Soldier coming more fully onto Shield's radar when he attempted to assassinate Director Fury and later Steve, Agent Wilson, and Agent Romanoff. They had finally managed to subdue him during the takedown of the Hydra helicarriers; he had fought viciously, but eventually Steve and his team of Shield agents had managed to knock him unconscious and take him to the facility, where he's going to be interrogated and probably kept in a Shield prison for inhumans the rest of his life. He's certainly enhanced, able to match Steve blow for blow and perform extraordinary feats of strength and agility. Steve had thought that he was the only person ever to have received the supersoldier serum successfully, thirteen years ago, but he has a suspicion that this man has something similar running through his veins. He'll have to wait and see what the blood test shows.

"We're ready." Agent Hill's voice breaks through his thoughts. He turns to see her, Natasha, and Sam standing a few feet away, eyes trained on the soldier.

"Any hit on an identity?" Steve asks.

Hill shakes her head. "Not yet. It takes a while. Let's see if he'll cooperate first. If he'll give us any information."

Steve nods. "Alright." He takes a deep breath, stepping towards the door and turning his earpiece on. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Cap," they chorus.

He opens the door, the soldier's eyes flicking to him, empty and unblinking. Steve takes the chair on the other side of the small table, leaning forward and resting his clasped hands on the table as he meets the man's dead stare.

"I'm Captain Rogers, but I take it you already know that given you tried to kill me. Want to start by telling me your name?"

"I don't have a name." The reply is quiet, barely mumbled and hoarse, the man's expression never changing.

Steve sighs. "Right. Listen, you're only gong to make this harder on yourself if you don't cooperate. We're running facial recognition and your fingerprints right now, so eventually we'll find out who you are."

There's no response, not even the barest shift in his expression. It's unnerving.

Steve sighs. "Okay. If that's how you want to play it. Let's start with the basics. You're Hydra?"

There's the barest furrow of his brow, so slight Steve wonders if he imagines it. "I am Hydra's."

There's something...off about that answer.  _I am Hydra's,_ not  _I am Hydra._ Like Hydra owns him. Steve decides to press. "What does that mean?"

He's definitely not imagining the slight frown this time. "I am Hydra's," the soldier repeats. "I am the soldier."

Steve narrows his eyes. "Right. You're a Hydra agent, we got that. How did you join?"

The soldier looks...confused, which doesn't make sense. "I-" his eyes dart to the side briefly, the most expressive Steve's seen him so far. "I-" His metal hand curls into a fist on the chair and Steve stiffens. "I am Hydra's," the soldier repeats, sounding almost...unsure.

Something is starting to not feel right. The soldier's demeanor is a complete 180 from before. Steve leans forward slightly more. "Why?" he questions. "Why are you Hydra? Is it money, or do you actually believe in the cause? Because I gotta say, every other agent we've ever tried to take alive ends up foaming at the mouth. Cyanide capsule in a tooth. But not you. So what's your motivation?"

The soldier looks lost and slightly frustrated. "I-I am Hydra's," he repeats. "I serve Hydra."

Steve tries not to let his aggravation show. Is the soldier being purposefully vague? "Yes, but  _why?_ You Hydra agents are usually happy to spout off your ideology."

The soldier's eyes dart to the side again. "Hydra is...giving the world...the freedom...it deserves." It sounds like he's reciting something from rote, but badly. "I do...my part."

Steve just nods, something still off but deciding to forge ahead. "Alright, so you actually believe in Hydra. You're not a mercenary. You still never answered how you joined. You're enhanced, we know that. Is Hydra responsible for that?"

"I-" The soldier's brow furrows again. "I...yes?" His eyes flick back to Steve's as if he thinks Steve knows the answer.

Steve frowns. "You're not sure?"

The soldier's eyes stare blankly into the table. 

Okay, something is definitely wrong. "You don't know if Hydra made you enhanced?" Steve tries to clarify.

The metal fist tightens again and the soldier's eyes flick to it. "No-they, they did. They did. Hydra made me."

"Why were you unsure before?"

"I don't-I don't know. I don't know. I don't-" The soldier looks upset. "I don't know. I don't know, I don't-"

Steve raises his hands, slightly alarmed.  _What the hell?_  "Okay, okay. Calm down. I'm just asking questions."

The soldier takes a few shallow breaths, settling once more into eerie stillness.

"Let's come back to that," Steve says, trying to get the conversation back on track. "How long have you been with Hydra?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Honestly, does he think Steve's an idiot? "How about a rough estimate?"

"I don't know." The soldier pauses. "I am-I am Hydra's. I don't know. I don't know."

Steve stops him with a hand before he can launch into a string of 'I don't know's.' "Okay, I get it. You don't know, right. What  _do_ you know?"

The soldier hesitates for a long time before his eyes find Steve's, empty and dead and voice flat as he recites. "I am Hydra's. I am the soldier. Handler: Alexander Pierce. Location: Ideal Federal Savings Bank, Washington DC. Primary mission objective: Ensure launch of Helicarriers. Secondary mission objective: Ensure death of Captain America. Report for debriefing and maintenance afterwards. Failure is not an option." The soldier falls silent, eyes staring ahead blankly.

Steve blinks, stunned. He has no idea what to think at this point. Is the soldier just being uncooperative or is there something else going on? 

"Ask about the location," Hill's voice echoes through his earpiece. 

He takes a deep breath. "Okay, you said a location. Ideal Federal Savings Bank. Is that a Hydra base?"

"Yes."

"Alright. And that's where you reported to?"

"Yes. Where I was kept," the soldier says.

 _Kept._ Not  _worked at,_ or  _reported to._ As if-as if he was a prisoner. But no, that can't be right. He's an assassin, a cold-blooded killer who'd nearly killed Steve as well. For some reason that's easy to forget when the soldier's wide blue eyes are fixed on him, vulnerable and confused and somehow familiar. Steve refocuses, shoving the thoughts from his mind.

"Kept?" he questions. 

The soldier frowns slightly. "I was kept there," he repeats.

"Right, but what does that mean? Did you stay in safehouses between missions?"

"No. I-I was kept there," he repeats again, sounding almost frustrated.

"You lived there?"

"I...yes."

That's...strange, but he supposes they must have built quarters for agents in the base. Easier and more secure than safehouses, maybe.

"We need locations," Hill says. "Other bases."

"Do you know the addresses of any other bases?" Steve asks.

"No."

He decides to let it go for now. "You said Pierce was your handler. Who else did you report to?"

"No one."

"Just Pierce?"

"Yes."

Well, at least they're getting somewhere. The soldier is answering questions, at any rate. He's...fairly cooperative for someone who fought so viciously against them. 

"Would you be willing to give us a list of names of everyone you know is Hydra?"

"I don't-I don't know."

Is he saying he doesn't know if he will give them, or that he doesn't know any names? Steve swallows down his frustration. "What does that mean? You don't know if you'll give us the list, or you don't know any names?"

"I don't know any names."

Right. Maybe it was a security thing? If he got captured, he didn't have any secrets to spill? He seems not to know a lot, or at least is pretending not to, and that seems like the most reasonable explanation. Even Shield does that. Compartmentalization. No one person knows all the secrets.

Steve sighs, frustrated at the slim intel they're getting, even though the soldier is being way more cooperative than he had hoped. Something just feels off about this whole thing, but he can't put his finger on it. He continues on, deciding to try a more direct approach. This man is a ruthless killer and possible spy. Steve thinks he's been having him on with the whole confused act, and he's not going to play into it anymore.

He takes a deep breath, straightening slightly. "Okay, listen here. You had two missions: The Helicarriers and killing me, and you said failure wasn't an option. But here we are. Hydra is going down; your organization is in ruins, Pierce is dead, the Helicarriers are wreckage, and I'm sitting across from you, alive. You're going to spend the rest of your life in a Shield facility, if you don't get the death penalty. If you cooperate, I can get them to go easy on you. If not, well, we can make the rest of your life very difficult."

The soldier looks confused and upset, not the reaction Steve anticipated, unless he's still trying to play the 'I don't know' card. "Pierce is dead?"

Steve nods. "Yes."

"I-no Hydra?" the soldier asks.

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah, Hydra's pretty much destroyed by now. So if you were hoping for a rescue, don't."

"I-" the soldier breaks off. "I am Shield's now?"

Steve narrows his eyes. "Yes...we captured you. You're in Shield's custody."

The soldier's eyes search Steve's. "You are my handler?"

Steve jerks back. "What?" he asks incredulously. 

The soldier looks anxious. "Pierce is dead. Hydra is gone. I am Shield's now. You are my handler?"

Steve holds up a hand. "Wait. Wait. Are you telling me your allegiances have switched, just like that? You seriously think we'd hire you?"

"I don't-I don't understand."

Steve stares. "If I gave you a mission right now, would you do it?"

The soldier frowns. "Yes."

Steve gapes. "What-wow, just wow. If you think you're worming your way out of prison by offering your services you've got another thing coming. That's not how it works around here."

The soldier just looks lost. "I don't understand," he says quietly.

Steve stands up, slamming his hands on the table. "Goddamnit, drop the act."

The soldier flinches violently, squeezing his eyes closed and turning his head to the side. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry, I don't know, I don't know, please, I'm sorry, I don't know, please-"

Steve freezes, staring in horror as the soldier mumbles broken apologies and pleas. This isn't-this isn't an act. There's no way. The soldier is visibly trembling, breaths hitching and right fingernails digging into his palm as blood oozes from between them. _There's no way this is an act_. This is pure, unadulterated terror, this is-this is someone who's been tortured before. Ruthless assassin or not something is very, very wrong.

Steve turns, walking out of the room. Sam and Natasha are staring in stunned confusion and Hill's face is just as shocked as she turns to look at Steve.

"I don't think we have the whole story," she says. "We're missing something."

Steve nods, watching the terrified man through the window. "Yeah. I'd say so."

***

Steve, Natasha, and Sam approach the bank slowly, pressing to the wall by the door. Steve counts down from three on his fingers before bursting through, shield raised as bullets start to fly. Natasha and Sam enter behind him, returning fire as Steve knocks agents aside and flings his shield, catching it with practiced skill and moving around Natasha and Sam like they've been working together their whole lives. As soon as one room is cleared they continue on deeper into the base, a typical bank layout with a few more computers and files on each level but nothing much, finally returning to the first floor and coming to a caged elevator at the end of the last hallway. Steve pries the doors open, all of them piling in and Steve pressing the button before it starts to descend.

When they reach the bottom they step out into a small hallway, still and silent but for a blinking camera over the elevator. There's a door on the right and Steve opens it, seeing what looks like a large training room complete with weapons. Where the soldier probably trains, then. Moving on he opens another door further down on the left, one that looks like the door on the solitary confinement cells of prisons, with only a small window and a latched slot. The door is reinforced, probably a foot thick, with multiple sliding locks from top to bottom that aren't latched. Steve opens the door slowly, dread pooling in his gut. The inside is tiny, only a small cot, a toilet, and a sink crammed into the space and no windows, nothing but solid concrete all around. There are finger-shaped gouges in the walls and what looks to be tally marks over the bed, covering the entire wall. There must be over a hundred of them.  _A hundred days in here,_ Steve thinks. It's enough to drive someone insane. The rumpled, ragged blanket on the bed and stained pillow seem to indicate that someone has been here recently, which makes Steve sick just thinking about it. This has been here under their noses the entire time.  _What if it was the soldier?_ a voice whispers in his head. 

He hears Sam step into the room behind him, drawing in a breath. 

"Jesus."

Steve swallows. "Yeah. Come on, let's keep moving."

Sam follows him out, meeting up with Natasha as she comes out of the training room.

"What is it?" she asks, seeing their faces.

Sam shakes his head. "Cell. They had someone imprisoned here, we know that much."

The hallway ends in a T, all of them heading down the right fork first. It opens out into a small room with a drain in the center, a hose lying a few feet away and the cement still stained with water. Steve gets the horrible feeling that this is what passes for cleanliness for whoever the unfortunate prisoner was.  _The soldier,_ his brain asserts. The suspicion is rapidly growing even as he tries to shove it down.

They turn around, going towards the other end into what looks like a bank vault, with barred gates swinging open in front of it. Cautiously, Steve pushes through the door, emerging into a room with safety deposit boxes all around and equipment in the middle, the most prominent of which is a large dentist-looking chair with a strange circular contraption over the head. There's screens all around as well as an IV stand and bag and several rolling stools, another camera in the corner.

"What the hell?" Sam murmurs.

Steve keeps moving, shield at the ready as he goes through the opening on the far side of the vault, a small chamber with a table in the middle and equipment all around, from surgical supplies to what he can only describe as instruments of torture. There's heavy cuffs on the table, two wrists and two ankles with straps dangling from the side meant to go around someone's chest and hips, a drain set into the floor beneath it and horrible rust-like stains all over it. _Blood._ Another camera blinks from the corner and Steve feels sick. There's no doubt about it, they had imprisoned and tortured someone in this base. 

He stumbles out, Sam and Natasha's faces grim as they look around the vault. Sam jerks his head at where Steve came from.

"What's in there?"

Steve just shakes his head, unable to say it, and Sam and Natasha both shoot him looks before moving to see for themselves. They emerge a minute later, faces ashen.

"Oh god," Sam says. 

Natasha stares at the camera in the corner, expression dark. "We need to see this security footage."

***

They sit at the command desk, searching through the various security feeds on the screen. 

"There." Natasha points to the screen with the chair clearly visible, empty right now. Steve pulls it up, hitting the rewind on the controls. 

"How far should we back it up?"

Natasha shrugs. "Till something comes up."

On the rewinding screen suddenly figures come in backwards, the images too fast to register but eventually a figure lying back in the chair with the strange metal halo over their head, Steve realizing it's the soldier as the left arm glints metal.

"Start when they first come in," Sam suggests.

Steve nods and keeps going, the timestamp showing minutes upon minutes rewinding and still the soldier is in the chair. Finally the halo moves and the soldier sits up in reverse, people moving around him. Someone comes up and talks to the soldier in a flash on the screen, then they are backing out of the room and the soldier moving, someone flying across the room in reverse to stand next to the soldier. Minutes of the recording pass in seconds with little movement before the soldier is standing up, his tactical gear coming back on and the guards leaving as he backs from the room. Steve stops the recording, pressing play.

On the screen the soldier walks in, looking exactly as he had in the fight on the causeway, minus the mask. Guards file in after him and surround the room facing outwards as men in white lab coats come forward, the soldier standing still and dead-eyed as they strip off his tactical vest and weapons, revealing jagged, raised scars along the seam of the metal arm. Then they nudge him towards the chair where he sits down, reclining slightly and staring blankly at the wall as they insert an IV into his hand and begin to work on his arm. A minute passes in silence as they work, sparks flying and the damage Steve and Natasha had done being fixed. Then there's the slightest twitch from the soldier, the slightest ruffle of his hair. Another second and the arm whirs before the soldier lashes out, throwing the technicians across the room as the guards whirl around, guns trained on him. The guards-the guards are not there for his protection, Steve suddenly realizes. They are there to guard  _him._ The soldier breathes heavily, arms flexed and expression murderous. The technicians leave the room and after a little while the soldier's hands drop, eyes going distant and glassy.

Footsteps sound and Pierce steps into the room, raising his hands at the guards, who drop their guns as he approaches the soldier. Rumlow and a couple other Strike members follow, the barred door closed shut behind them. Pierce puts his glasses in his pocket as he stares at the soldier, the soldier's gaze still unfocused and far-off.

"Mission report," Pierce says.

The soldier doesn't respond, not even looking like he hears him.

"Mission report, now," Pierce repeats.

Still the soldier does not respond. Pierce approaches, leaning down and putting his hands on his knees as he peers at the soldier. Then his left arm comes up and he backhands the soldier across the face with a loud crack, the soldier's head snapping to the side and punching a breath out of Steve. The soldier doesn't even react, head coming around slowly and expression confused.

"The man on the bridge. Who was he?"

Pierce hesitates. "You met him earlier this week on another assignment."

The soldier's eyes rove around slowly, thoughtfully. "I knew him."

 _What?_ Steve thinks. How the hell does he know him?

Pierce pulls up a stool, sitting down as the soldier's expression closes off and his head tilts down, something like helpless frustration glinting in his eyes.

"Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the decade. And I need you to do it, one more time. Society's at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning, we're going to give it a push. But if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and Hydra can't give the world the freedom it deserves." Those are-those are the exact same words the soldier used, Steve realizes.

The soldier tilts his head, looking desolate and lost. "But I _remember_." His mouth tightens in frustration.

Pierce sighs before getting up, addressing the techs. "Prep him."

"It's been too long..." one of the techs murmurs.

Pierce turns to look at the soldier. "Then wipe him, and start over."

The soldier's expression goes horribly, heartbreakingly sad, something hopeless and resigned in his eyes. Techs move forwards, shoving him back into the chair. He goes without resistance but there is defiance in his face, in his eyes as he stares straight at Pierce, accepting a bite guard willingly. Then the cuffs clamp around his arms and his head jerks back, the metal halo coming over his head as rectangular paddles spark with electricity. The soldier's chest heaves and his right hand shakes, terror creeping into his expression and eyes squeezing closed briefly before the paddles clamp over his head and he begins to scream. 

The screams continue for minutes after Pierce and the Strike team leave the room, on and on and on endlessly until Steve hits the fast-forward button, nausea rising in his throat. He stops just as the clamps release the soldier's head, leaving the soldier panting and shaking in the chair. The cuffs release but he stays where he is, eyes glazed and head lolling limply. The techs take the bite guard out of his mouth, the guards relaxed with guns lowered. They're not afraid of him anymore. Finally Pierce strides back into the room, stopping in front of the soldier as the soldier's eyes flick to his calmly.

"Good evening, soldier. Do you know who I am?"

The soldier seems to think for a moment, blinking sluggishly. "Pierce," he finally rasps, voice hoarse from screaming. 

Pierce smiles. "Good. What do you remember?"

The soldier's brow furrows slightly. "I-I don't know. H-Hydra. You."

 _Oh god,_ Steve thinks.  _They wiped his memories._

"Good. You are Hydra's weapon. You are the soldier. I am your handler, Alexander Pierce. We are in Ideal Federal Savings Bank in Washington, DC, where you are kept and will return after you have completed your mission. Your primary objective is to ensure the launch of Hydra's Helicarriers. Your secondary objective is to ensure the death of Captain America. He is distinguishable by his red, white, and blue uniform and circular shield. You are to report here for debriefing and maintenance afterwards. Failure is not an option. Do you understand?"

It's-it's almost exactly word for word what the soldier had told Steve. He'd just been repeating what Pierce said. It wasn't an act. This really is  _everything_ he knows. 

The soldier nods. "Yes."

***

The ride back to new Shield headquarters is silent, all of them reeling from the bank. They'd taken all the security tapes and called it in so Shield experts could go over the base and clean up, though everything will be documented for evidence especially in light of their findings. Everything seems to point to the soldier being an unwilling participant. If he truly believed in Hydra, there would be no need to wipe his memories or subject him to the torture and imprisonment implied by the base. He's-he's a victim just as much as anyone else. And Steve had been trying to interrogate him thinking he was a stone cold Hydra assassin when he's probably just a traumatized, brainwashed prisoner. God, his words all make so much more sense now. And his question,  _you're my handler?_  As soon as he heard Hydra was gone he thought that Shield owned him now, as if he was just a weapon to be used. He didn't even understand anything Steve was saying, probably, and he definitely thought Steve was going to hurt him at the end, something that makes him feel sick now. It's...inhuman, what Hydra had done, and he knows that's probably not the half of it. 

When they walk into the room Agent Hill is waiting for them, face grim.

"I found something."

Steve sighs. "So did we. You first."

Hill nods. "Facial recognition got a match. It took a while because the photo is twelve years old, but it's him." A photo flashes up on the screen, taking Steve's breath away. Blue eyes in a young face, bright and clear, a cocky grin, army uniform neat and pressed with the flag in the background. He can't be more than twenty in the photo, and though the man in the interrogation room is as different as night and day and twelve years older it's unmistakably him. And he is...familiar. Steve-Steve  _knows_ him, it's just out of reach-

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," Hill says. "American soldier in Afghanistan. Sniper. Declared killed in action after a helicopter crash but no body was found, presumably because of the explosion. Before that he was captured by Hydra in the fall of 2002 along with his unit and-" She turns to Steve, wincing. "You rescued him. It's unclear what happened but there were rumors of experimentation and torture. Barnes declined an honorable discharge and continued to fight until his presumed death in December of 2003."

Suddenly Steve remembers with a jolt of horror. 

_A man strapped down to a table, mumbling his name, rank and serial number over and over. Steve's hands shaking him, undoing the straps. Glazed blue eyes finally landing on him, face streaked with dirt and blood and mottled with bruises and uniform torn and bloody, dog tags glinting on his chest._

_"Is tha-?"_

_"Hey, you're safe now. What's your name?"_

_Voice slurred, hands limply grabbing at him as Steve hauls him off the table. "Bucky. My name is Bucky."_

_"Alright Bucky, I'm Captain Rogers. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"_

The memory fades. God, he had rescued this man.  _I knew him._ Steve had only pulled him out of the base and handed him off to the rescue helicopter, and had never seen him again. He hadn't even known his real name, only 'Bucky.' It was no wonder that with the blood and grime on Bucky's face and how much older and different he looks now that he hadn't recognized the soldier.

"I remember," he says. "The experiments must have worked. They must have found him after the crash."

Hill nods. "That's my theory. I don't think he was Hydra originally, especially given the fact that he was captured and tortured. How they got him to switch sides, I don't know, but there's almost eleven years in between then and now."

Steve swallows. "We do know. And it's not good."

 


	2. Chapter 2

The soldier sits in the chair, staring ahead blankly as his mind whirls and his head pounds. It has been...a long time, since the man left. He doesn't know how long. Time is meaningless. He is-he is in Shield, he is Shield's now, Hydra is gone, Pierce is dead and he thinks he is Shield's now but the man-the man asks confusing questions and he doesn't know-he doesn't, the man was his mission but now-now Hydra is gone and there is no mission, he thinks, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do, the man-the man won't tell him and he doesn't understand, it's all so confusing and he doesn't-he doesn't  _remember,_ all he knows is Hydra and pain and Pierce and pain pain pain always pain it never stops why won't it stop-

The door opens and the man steps through, the man- _Captain America, no, Captain Rogers-_ and he sits down across from the soldier and he looks-he looks sad and he is speaking, voice soft, not like before when he-when he-

"Hey, I'm sorry about before. I know you must be very confused right now. I'm not going to hurt you, okay? No one is going to hurt you ever again."

What. _What._ That is-that is a lie, they always hurt him, always, it never stops, why won't it stop-

"I want to help you," the man is saying. "I know you never asked for any of this."

He..what? He wants-he wants to help but what-what does that mean, and the soldier-the soldier never asked for this, no, he can't, he's not allowed, he is not a person, he is a weapon-

"-you understand?"

No. No. What. No. He doesn't-he doesn't understand what does the man want, what is happening but he has to-he has to respond- _you will respond when spoken to_ -

"No," he says. 

The man's expression tightens slightly, a grimace. Was that-was that the wrong answer? "Okay," the man says. "Okay. What don't you understand?"

"I don't-I don't know." He doesn't understand  _anything,_ he doesn't know what's happening, what does the man want, why why why- "I don't know, I don't know, I don't-"

"Okay, okay. It's alright. No one is going to hurt you. That's all you need to understand right now."

The soldier stares at the man, confused. No one is going to hurt him? It is-it is too much to think about and his head pounds and his throat is dry and his broken ribs throb and his fractured arm burns and his metal shoulder aches and the torn knee hurts and the leg-the leg hurts and everything hurts, it hurts and it won't stop why won't it stop-

"-anyone?"

He blinks back to awareness, the man looking at him questioningly and he had-he had asked something but the soldier doesn't know what but he has to respond,  _respond immediately_ but he doesn't know what the man wants, what did he ask, he will be punished-

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry," he chokes out. "Again. Again. I don't-I-"

"That's okay. I'll repeat it. I asked, if we let you out of this chair are you going to try and hurt anyone?"

No he-he doesn't have a mission, of course not. "No."

The man-the man sighs in-in relief. "Good. Okay, I'm going to release you from these cuffs, but I have to put on a device on your metal arm that will deactivate it if you try to hurt anyone. Do you understand?"

"Yes." This, at least, is simple. 

The man gets up, coming around the table towards the soldier. He releases the metal arm first, putting a small metal cuff around the wrist that blinks with blue light. The soldier stays still and silent, not moving a muscle. The man releases his right arm and his legs, straightening up and returning to his own chair.

"Okay, that's it. You can move freely, but if you try and hurt anyone that cuff will send an electric pulse through your arm, deactivating it. I'm sorry we have to do this, but we can't take any chances." The man cracks a small smile. "You did try to kill me."

The soldier-the soldier doesn't know how to respond to this, doesn't know what the man wants and he did-he did try to kill him but now there is no mission and he doesn't-he won't kill the man because there is no mission and because- _because ~~he doesn't want to~~_ ~~~~he is the man's now, he is Shield's and he will comply- _ready to comply-_ but he hurt the man and that means punishment- _you will not attack your handler-_ but is the man his handler he doesn't-he doesn't know he didn't say so but he must-he must be and he thinks-he thinks-

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Mission. I don't-I don't-"

"It's okay. Am I still your mission?"

"No. No-no mission, I don't know, I don't know-"

"Okay, okay, just checking. That's good to know." The man pauses. "We went to the base." He studies the soldier as if expecting a response but it is not a question, the soldier doesn't know what he wants, the base-there was the base- _where he was kept-_ and he thinks of scratches in grey walls and the chair-always the chair and his own screams ringing off the walls-

"-where you were kept?" the man is asking.

Yes, yes, that's where-that's where he was kept. "Yes."

The man's face is-is sad. "What do you remember?"

_What do you remember?_ He doesn't-he doesn't know, he doesn't  _remember_ but he-he  _knows_ things without remembering and it's all-it's all jumbled but there is Hydra and pain and Pierce and the chair and pain and mission and orders and pain pain pain but there is an answer-the answer he's supposed to say every time, he knows this-

"Hydra. Pierce."

The man's voice is soft. "Okay, but what do you remember about each?"

This is-this is not normal, this isn't what usually happens and he wants-the man wants to know what the soldier remembers but if he-if he says they will punish him but he has to-he has to respond _-you will respond when spoken to-_

His muscles have tensed, the metal hand clenched in a fist. "I am Hydra's. I am the soldier. Pierce is my handler."

The man leans forward. "That's what Pierce told you. I want to know what  _you_ remember. Everything."

No no nononono he doesn't-he doesn't want to remember they will punish him, he doesn't-he doesn't know but he has to respond, he has to and he sifts through the scattered images and knowledge, right fingernails digging into his palm as he recites-

"I-the base. A room. People. I...pain. Training. You will comply. The-the chair. Pierce. You will not attack your handler. You will respond when spoken to. Pain. Failure to comply will be met with punishment. A room. Lights. Mission. I am Hydra's. I am the soldier. I am-I am a weapon. White coats. Needles. Pain. A room. A man. Failure is not an option. I-" He is breathing shallowly, head throbbing and right fingernails cutting deep into his palm. "I-I don't-I don't know, I don't know, please, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't-"

"-ey, hey, it's alright. That's okay. No one is going to hurt you."

He breathes, forcing himself back into quiet stillness, numbness muting the edges of everything.

"Okay, I think that's enough for today," the man says, voice rough. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable. There's a room right through this door where you can rest." He points to the opposite side of the room from where he came in but the soldier doesn't turn his head to look, staying still and silent. Everything-everything hurts and his head feels fuzzy and he is tired-so tired but he can't-he can't show it, he's not supposed to-

"-kay, just follow me," the man says.

The soldier stands, ignoring the pain that sparks through his body and the black spots that dance in front of his eyes. It is-it is just pain. He is not allowed to react. He is not allowed to react, keep going, _you don't stop until I tell you to,_ he cannot show pain, he is not allowed and he takes a step, fiery pain shooting up his leg  _don't react don't react don't react-_

"-you okay? You went kinda pale."

He forces himself back into the quiet blankness that numbs the pain. "I am functional." He can-he can do it, he can, he's functional, they don't need to-to do things to him, he is-he is functional, he is,  _he is-_

The man frowns. "Are you injured?"

He has-he has to answer and he will know, he will know but the soldier-the soldier is  _still functional, please-_

"Yes."

"Oh, I'm sorry. We should have realized. What hurts?"

"Broken ribs approximately four through six right and left, fractured humerus, torn right knee, head injury, left leg damage unknown source, left shoulder damage at point of attachment, additional pain of unknown origin" he lists.

The man looks...horrified. No-no he is going-he is going to decide the soldier isn't functional, he's going to-going to-

"Oh my-oh god," the man says. "I had-I had no idea. You need medical attention. Okay, I'll take you to the med bay. It's not far. Can you-can you walk?"

"Yes." Of course-of course he can walk.  _He cannot show pain._ He is functional. 

"Okay, we'll take it slow. Just follow me and let me know if you need to stop." He starts forward and the soldier follows, body consumed with pain but managing to keep his expression blank and body moving smoothly though the right knee wobbles and buckles under him. He is functional.  _He is functional._  

He blinks to find himself standing in a room with a bed in the middle, the back propped up, various equipment lining the room and doors on each side. There is-there is a man in the room, smaller and nervous-looking, with dark hair and glasses and a white coat- _white coats, needles, pain, hold him down-_

"I'm Dr. Banner. Have a seat here and we'll get started. What seems to be the problem?"

Before he can respond the man gestures to the doctor and they retreat to the far corner of the room, the man whispering lowly at the doctor. The soldier sits on the bed as ordered, waiting. Finally they return, something different in the doctor's demeanor.

"Okay, let's start over. I'm Bruce. I'm here to help you. Steve says you're injured?"

Steve? Is that-is that the man's name? He pushes it away. "Yes."

"Can you tell me what hurts?"

"Broken ribs approximately four through six right and left, fractured humerus, torn right knee, head injury, left leg damage unknown source, left shoulder damage at point of attachment, additional pain of unknown origin" he repeats. 

The doctor blinks. "Okay, that's quite a lot. We're going to need x-rays and scans. Can I examine you first?"

What. Of course-of course he  _can,_ why is he asking the soldier what does he want the soldier doesn't understand but  _respond,_ he has to respond-

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm just going to take your vitals first." He withdraws a small black clip-like device. "This goes on your finger."

The soldier raises his hand and the doctor-Bruce-clamps it onto his finger, red numbers lighting up. After a few seconds Bruce takes it off, looking at it.

"Okay, pulse is fast and your temperature is a little high though that could just be your enhancement. We can't do blood pressure because you said your right arm is fractured and, well, the left..." he trails off. "I'm just going to start with the ribs." Bruce moves forward until he is standing next to the soldier. "Can I touch you?"

The question- _can I-_ again, what does he want and the soldier repeats the answer, the doctor liked the answer before-

"Yes."

"Okay, I'm going to need you to lay back on the bed."

The soldier complies, lying back on the soft mattress that is angled so he is reclining at a 45 degree angle. It is-it is like  _the chair_ but softer, no cuffs and no contraptions or wires and he lies still and stares at the ceiling as Bruce lifts up his soft shirt and gloved fingers press lightly against his ribs, the soldier forcing down the pain and not reacting, _he can't react, don't react-_  

"Does this hurt?"

"Yes."

Bruce moves to another rib. "This?"

"Yes."

Bruce keeps moving, prodding and asking as the soldier lies still, eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling. Finally the hands disappear.

"Okay, we'll take an x-ray to see the extent of the breaks but nothing seems out of place. Let's see the arm next." Gentle hands roll up the short sleeve of his shirt and lift his arm slightly by the elbow. "Oh, you cut your hand. Let me bandage that." The arm is set down and Bruce moves away, coming back to pick up his hand and dab at the fingernail cuts with something that stings the soldier's nose before wrapping soft white gauze around it. He picks up the soldier arm again and studies it before gently setting it down again, a pulse of pain shooting through it.

"Okay, again, we're going to need an x-ray but it looks like a simple break. What's next-you said, uh...torn knee, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Hands carefully shove up the leg of his loose pants, rolling them past the knee. "I'm going to press and you tell me if it hurts." Fingers press against his knee, pain flaring. "Here?"

"Yes."

"Here?"

"Yes."

The procedure repeats. Then Bruce manipulates his leg, bending and twisting as the soldier keeps responding "yes." 

"Does it give out when you walk on it? Like, it feels unstable?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Hands release his leg. "I think you might have an ACL tear but the scans will tell us for sure. What was next on your list?"

"Head injury."

"Oh, right. Okay." Bruce moves to the head of the bed, hand reaching out to touch his temple. The soldier flinches,  _hands on his head, holding him down, clamps around his head, a hand striking his face-_

He freezes, panic clawing at his insides. No. nononono. He's not-he's not allowed to react, don't move,  _stay still, hold him still-_

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry," he chokes out, keeping his head completely still as he stares ahead, breathing shallowly. "Sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to apologize. I'm not going to hurt you. You don't want me to touch your head?"

He doesn't-he doesn't have  _wants,_ what is Bruce-what is he asking, why, he doesn't understand, is this-is this a test-

"I won't move. I won't. Sorry. Sorry. Please. Please. I won't-I'll stay still. Please."

"-oah, okay, no, you don't have to stay still. This-I-listen, I'm not going to hurt you. I don't-I'm not going to touch your head. Or...do anything you don't want. Okay?"

What.  _What._ That doesn't-that doesn't make sense they always hurt him, always, they always  _ ~~do things he doesn't want~~  _make him stay still, he has to, he's not allowed to move, he doesn't understand what Bruce wants, why is he doing this, whywhywhywhywhy-

"I don't-I don't understand, I don't know, I don't-"

"Okay. Okay. I...Steve?" The man sounds slightly panicked.

Footsteps sound and the man- _Steve-_ steps up to the bed, the soldier turning his head to look at him. _You will look at me when spoken to_. "Hey pal, remember I said all you had to understand was that we aren't going to hurt you?"

This is-this is easier, it is a question he can answer, yes, he remembers, yes- "Yes."

"Good. I know it's probably hard for you to believe, and we haven't done much to convince you of it. I'm sorry. What Bruce was trying to say is that we're not going to hurt you if you don't stay still, or if you say no to something. We're not Hydra. Different...rules here. Does that make more sense?"

Yes. Yes, that is-that makes sense. Different rules. This is not Hydra. Okay. Okay. Yes. "Yes."

_Steve_ sighs in relief. "Good. That's great. Now, I can tell you don't like your head touched so Bruce isn't going to do that. Bruce?"

Bruce steps up next to Steve. "Yeah, we can take a scan. I don't have to touch your head. I'm just going to shine a light in your eyes to measure pupil response, I want you to keep looking straight ahead. Got it?"

"Yes." He turns his head to face forward again, staring ahead as ordered. There's a click and Bruce moves a pen-like instrument in front of his face, light shining in his eyes. Finally it clicks off.

"Okay, pupils are a bit dilated but not uneven, but you still probably have a concussion since you took a pretty bad blow to the head. The scan should tell us more. What's next?"

"Left leg damage unknown source."

"Okay. I'm going to roll up your pant leg to take a look." Bruce moves around the bed, coming to stand next to his left leg. Then he carefully rolls up the fabric, the soldier watching as his eyes widen. The left leg is covered in twisted scars like spiders' webs, more prominent on the outside and wrapping around his thigh and calf in angry red lines, parts of the flesh misshapen and missing. There are white surgical scars on and around his knee, though he doesn't remember what from.

Bruce turns to Steve. "Didn't they note this when they processed him? And how did they miss all the other injuries?"

Steve's face tightens. "They weren't really very concerned with his comfort, and pretty nervous about him waking up. They probably didn't even think twice that he has scars given his...job, and you wouldn't know he is injured from looking at him. I didn't until I asked."

Bruce takes a breath, expression tinged with anger as he turns back to the soldier. "You don't know how you got this?"

"No."

"And it's painful?"

"Yes."

Bruce takes another breath. "Unfortunately, there's nothing we can really do for this right now. I'll be giving you some pain medication anyway for your other injuries so that should help. The scans can tell us more about how badly it's damaged." He rolls the soldier's pant leg back down. "What's next?"

"Left shoulder damage at point of attachment."

"Attach-the metal arm?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'm going to need to take your shirt off to have a look."

The soldier complies, grabbing the fabric and slipping it off his head, heedless of the pain and weakness that spikes through his right arm and the throb of his metal shoulder.

"Whoa, whoa, I didn't think you-that must...that must've hurt, oh my god. You-you didn't have to do that."

The soldier doesn't understand. Did Bruce want to take it off himself? Is he-is he mad at the soldier? Did he do something wrong? He thought-he thought that's what Bruce wanted-

Bruce approaches, eyes wide as he stares at the arm. "Wow." He blinks, seeming to shake himself. "Okay, it looks like you have some serious scarring around the arm. I don't know exactly how they attached this, but I'm guessing it's not comfortable. But, same with the leg, there's not much I can do now. We'll need to take scans and figure out exactly how this works first. I think that was it, unless I'm missing something?"

"Additional pain of unknown origin."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I forgot. Where?"

"I-everywhere." Everything-everything hurts, it hurts and it won't stop, why won't it stop-

"Everything hurts?"

"Yes."

Bruce looks...sad. "Oh. That's-that's..." He frowns. "I have no idea why that would be. Maybe just soreness from fighting?" 

"I don't-I don't know." 

"Alright, we'll figure it out later. For now, let's get the scans done so we can start making you feel better. They should have analyzed your blood by now so I'll figure out how much pain medication you need. The x-ray is just in the next room." Bruce points to the door on the left. "Are you able to walk that far?"

"Yes." The soldier sits up, ignoring the pain in his ribs.

"Okay, just follow me." Bruce opens the door and the soldier swings his legs over the bed, pain shooting through both as he stands. He walks across the room, treading lightly and using all his strength to stay upright and walk smoothly as his right knee buckles under him. He walks up to Bruce but Bruce doesn't move, staring at him with something close to...horror?

"You-you're not even  _limping._ Your knee...you should be-" He seems to shake himself. "Right. Okay." He takes a deep breath. "Let's-let's go." He turns, walking into the next room as the soldier follows, Steve close behind. In the center of the room is a table with a metal pole and contraption attached overhead, making the soldier's pulse jump. Bruce approaches the machine, fiddling with it. 

"Okay, you can lie down on the table and then this is just going to take pictures of your bones. You won't feel a thing."

The soldier complies, lying down flat on the table and staring upwards. Bruce positions the device over his ribs, venturing across the room to retrieve a heavy vest-like piece.

"Okay, your arm is metal so we're going to put a lead shield over it." He sets the vest over the arm, covering it. It's slightly heavy but the soldier stays still, unblinking. "Alright, I'm going to go into the booth and run this, you'll hear a sound and that's it. Okay?"

"Yes." He understands.

Bruce disappears from his line of sight, the only sound Steve's faint breathing in the room. There's a whir and a click that makes panic shoot through the soldier but he doesn't move, he doesn't-he can't-he's not allowed-

Bruce returns, moving the device over his arm. "Okay, same drill. You're doing great."

He retreats and there's another whir, and a click. Bruce returns, moving the device over his knee. The soldier does not move.

The process repeats until every part of his body has been x-rayed. Then Bruce pushes the device away.

"Okay, all done here. If we head back into the exam room there's another room past that with the scanner. Can you make it that far?"

"Yes."

Bruce gives him a dubious look. "Okay. Just follow me, and if you need to stop just do so."

The soldier-the soldier cannot stop. He is not allowed. But he follows Bruce back into the room and through another door, where there is another table in the center of a large machine with a hole in the middle, like a-like a  _doughnut,_ but he doesn't know what that means, he thinks vaguely of a sweet smell and white powder on his fingers but he doesn't know why, it doesn't make sense, his head is pounding and he's tired-he's so tired and his muscles ache and he feels jittery and unfocused and the world blurs slightly and he is hot but he is also cold and his shirt is off and his skin prickles with a chill and his stomach cramps and he is thirsty, so thirsty-

"-understand?"

What. What. What. He is-he is standing in the room and Bruce-Bruce was speaking, he is in front of him looking expectant but the soldier doesn't know-he doesn't know what he asked but he has to respond, respond  _immediately-_

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Again. Again."

"That's okay. You're going to lie down and then the table will move and you'll hear some noise but nothing is going to happen to you. It's just going to take pictures like the last one, but these are of soft tissue instead of just bones. Luckily, this isn't an MRI, as we can't do one with the metal arm. This is more like a CT scan, though it's been modified and improved by Stark. That make sense?"

"Yes."

"Okay, you can lie down, with your head facing the machine."

The soldier does as ordered, lying flat on the table with his head on the small pillow.

"Okay, I'm going to press a button and the table is going to move." There's a click and then the table jolts slightly, moving towards the circular machine. It blots out his vision, the top of it only a foot from his face and enclosing him as there's a loud clunk and a whir and the table stops. The soldier's pulse races and his vision blurs but he stays stock still, not moving a muscle as he breathes shallowly. Finally the table moves forward a little, then stops again. The whirring continues. The table moves forward again, then stops, his head emerging from the other side of the machine and the panic lessening. When only his feet are inside the machine the table reverses, coming back to rest where it started as the whirring fades. Bruce steps up.

"Alright, all done. You did great. Let's get you back to the exam room. The x-rays should be done by now."

The soldier gets up, the world spinning for a second and black spots filling his vision. He stands up shakily, feeling weak and groggy as he makes his way across the room after Bruce, Steve following close behind. He sits back down on the bed in the exam room, leaning back almost in relief. Bruce sits behind a computer at the desk, images coming up on screen as he squints at them, nodding.

"Okay, yep, you have broken ribs but they're clean and should heal well. Your humerus is fractured, but again shouldn't cause any problems. Just don't do any movements that will jar your ribs and we'll put your arm in a sling." Bruce gets up, bending down to get something from a cabinet. It's a blue pouch with a white strap, and he holds it up as he approaches the soldier. "Can I put this on?"

The-the  _question._ "Yes."

"Okay, first let's get your shirt back on." Bruce picks up his shirt from the bed, holding it up. "Just extend your arms slightly and I'll slip it on."

The soldier complies, right hand shaking as he holds it out. Bruce slides the shirt up his arms and over his head, tugging it down gently.

"Okay, bring your right arm to your chest."

The soldier complies, right hand still shaking slightly as he holds the arm to his chest, though he doesn't know why. Bruce slips the blue pouch under it, suddenly frowning.

"I've noticed your hand is shaking. That's-" He lifts the strap over the soldier's head, settling it at the join between his neck and left shoulder. "That doesn't seem to be from the fracture." His hand brushes the soldier's shoulder as he adjusts the strap. "And your temperature was high." He steps back, scrutinizing the soldier. "Wait a minute...dilated pupils, temperature, shaking, body aches...I think-hold on, let me look at the blood tests they should've done." 

He returns to the computer, clicking until something comes up. The soldier sees Bruce's shoulders stiffen. 

"What is it?" Steve asks. 

"Oh god," Bruce says. "Yep. That's-that's why. You're going into withdrawal."

"Withdrawal?" Steve repeats, moving to look over Bruce's shoulder at the screen. "What from?"

"Looks like...very high doses of amphetamine and fentanyl. There's also traces of anticonvulsants and SSRIs, though those won't be causing withdrawal symptoms right now. This cocktail, and at these doses, would probably kill a normal person. I can't even...this is..."

"Yeah," Steve's voice is rough. 

Bruce takes a deep breath. "Okay, well, the withdrawal isn't dangerous and the opioid withdrawal should be relieved by pain medication." He turns to the soldier. "You're probably going to have some fatigue and lack of concentration from the stimulant withdrawal, and in a couple of days you may get some discontinuation syndrome from the SSRI withdrawal. At the very least you're probably going to feel depressed and anxious from the combo withdrawal which isn't fun but should eventually even out. Do you understand?"

The soldier frowns slightly. "I...yes." He doesn't-he didn't know they gave him drugs but why-why would he care, they can do what they want and he-he remembers an IV, there was an IV and that is where the drugs came from, he thinks but he never asked-he wasn't allowed to ask-

"Okay. I'm going to take a look at the scans and we'll get you fixed up and then I'll whip up the pain medication and let you rest." Bruce turns back to the computer, more images coming up as he studies them, Steve watching from behind him. Bruce points to something on the screen, looking back at Steve and lowering his voice, though the soldier still hears it.

"You said they wiped his memory?"

Steve nods. "Yeah." He glances over at the soldier briefly. "With electricity, somehow."

Bruce nods. "Yeah, there's pretty serious brain damage here, especially to memory centers. We'll table this for now and I'll study it later." He keeps clicking through images, occasionally making a humming sound under his breath. The soldier lies on the bed, watching listlessly. Finally Bruce scoots his stool back, reaching in another cabinet to take out a long device with what looks like multiple cuffs, two top and bottom separated by a space with round black pads on each side. He gets up and moves over to the soldier, holding it up.

"This is a brace to stabilize your knee. You have a partial tear of your ACL but with your enhancement it should heal fairly quickly. Can I put this on?"

The _question._ "Yes."

Bruce pulls up his pant leg again and lifts his leg slightly, undoing the cuffs and sliding the brace under his leg. Then he sets his leg down and does up the straps, surprisingly soft and comfortable against the soldier's skin. Bruce tugs his pant leg back down over it.

"How does that feel?"

The soldier-the soldier does not know how to answer that, doesn't know what the man wants but he must, he has to respond-

"Functional?"

Bruce grimaces. "Right. Bad question. Okay, you've got some damage to your body in other areas but it's nothing we can fix right now except to ease your pain, and I need more time to look at the scans. Let's get you somewhere comfortable." Suddenly he frowns. "Have you had anything to eat or drink?"

"No."

"Since how long?"

"Since....before mission."

Bruce turns to Steve, expression...angry. "He hasn't drank _anything_? Steve, it's been an entire day, and he was fighting this morning. He must be extremely dehydrated."

Steve looks stunned. "I thought-I thought they gave him some. I didn't even think...I just assumed....he didn't say anything-"

Bruce shakes his head, turning back to the soldier. "Okay, we're getting you food and water. And rest. When was the last time you slept?"

The soldier thinks but he can't-he can't remember-

"I don't know. I don't-I don't know, I don't-"

Steve's eyes widen. "You don't remember. You haven't slept since they..." he trails off. "That's almost twenty-four hours with no sleep. And fighting, and then being injured, and no food and water..." He takes a breath and scrubs a hand over his face. "God. This is-this is torture. We're no better than them."

"You know that's not true," Bruce says. He looks at the soldier kindly. "I'm going to make some pain meds and get you food and water while you follow Steve back to your room. Okay?"

The soldier does not know how to respond, so he chooses the answer that usually works. "Yes." He understands.

"Come on," Steve says gently. The soldier gets out of the bed, vision blurring and filled with black spots and head spinning-

He blinks to find Steve's hand on his metal shoulder, steadying him. 

"You okay?" 

He blinks again, sluggishly. "I am functional."

Steve sighs, hand tightening on the soldier. "Right. Alright, let's go. I'll help you."

The soldier starts to walk forward, brace stabilizing his knee but making his movements stiff and awkward, off-balance with his right arm in the sling and left one too heavy, the only thing keeping him from toppling over Steve's hand on the metal shoulder. They turn down a small hallway and then into a room with a viewing window that looks into where he had been before. They enter the room and go through the cell door into where he assumes he will be kept now, a small cell with a projection covered by a mattress and a small toilet and sink in the corner. Steve lowers him down onto the mattress, the soldier leaning against the wall as exhaustion weighs down his limbs. 

"I'm sorry about this," Steve says. "I know it looks like where you were kept before. I'll try to get them to let you out of here soon. And I'm sorry that I didn't notice that you weren't being taken care of." He sighs. "No one else knows the whole story right now, so they're not very fond of you. I wasn't, before I knew, and I treated you badly. I'm sorry. You don't deserve any of this."

The soldier has no idea what he is talking about, doesn't understand, can't-his head is fuzzy and he can't concentrate and Steve's words swirl away before he can think about them and he just-he just wants to sleep, he wants everything to stop, why won't it stop-

The door opens and Bruce steps through, carrying a tray and a pitcher as the scent of food makes the soldier's head go light. Bruce sets the tray on the mattress next to the soldier, picking up a cup of water and handing it to the soldier. The soldier takes it in the metal hand, the right immobilized.

"Small sips," Bruce instructs. "You shouldn't drink it all at once."

The soldier complies, taking small sips even though thirst burns in his throat. When he finishes the cup he hands it back to Bruce. 

"Okay, I'm going to refill this but you should eat first." He gestures to the tray, where there is three... _sandwiches,_ the soldier identifies. "It's not much, sorry, the food service here isn't great and I figured you'd have trouble eating with one hand, especially since...well, I don't know how dextrous your left one is."

The soldier doesn't understand why he's explaining or why he seems apologetic. This is-this is better than anything he can-he can remember, he only knows chalky drinks and bland MREs and he picks up the sandwich with the metal hand, eating in hurried bites as hunger claws at his insides, barely stopping to breathe. He doesn't taste it, doesn't care what it tastes like, food is only for functionality and as he finishes the first sandwich he moves to the second, wolfing it down.  The third goes down just as quickly, the desperate clawing abating slightly. Bruce holds out a refilled cup and he takes it, drinking in small sips as instructed before. After a third refill Bruce takes the tray, exiting the room as exhaustion hits the soldier with even more force. His eyes droop and his limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated, pain making everything feel fuzzy and overwhelming.

Bruce comes back with two square packets in hand.

"Okay, these are fentanyl patches, since that's what you were given before. I'm using two of the highest dosage since that seems to most closely match the amount in your bloodstream, but since they take hours to kick in I'm also going to give you a head start with some morphine. I'm just going to stick the patches on your right shoulder, under your collar bone. Sound good?"

He doesn't-he doesn't know the answer but he is so tired and he just repeats the answer he always gives. "Yes."

Bruce approaches, ripping open a packet and tugging the v-neck of his shirt down slightly to stick a patch on his chest. Then he repeats the procedure, placing the second patch next to the first.

"Okay, these should last for 72 hours but it might take 6 to 12 hours to kick in." He withdraws a syringe from his lab coat. "This is morphine. It will take the edge off until the patches kick in. I'm going to take your arm out of the sling for just a minute to inject this, okay?"

"Yes."

Bruce gently slides the sling off, extending the soldier's arm until it rests on his leg. Then he prods at the veins in the crook of his elbow, positioning the syringe over it. 

"You're just going to feel a little pinch."

He slides the needle in, the soldier staying still. He is-he is used to needles, he thinks. Bruce pushes the syringe and a faint burning sensation spreads through his veins. Then the needle is sliding out and Bruce puts the sling back on, hands steady and gentle.

"Okay, that should kick in in a minute. It will make you sleepy and you're already sleep-deprived so you should get some rest. I'll be back tomorrow to check on your injuries and discuss a treatment plan."

With a small smile at the soldier Bruce leaves, Steve stepping up as heavy warmth begins to flow over the soldier, pain dulling and the world going fuzzy. His head droops and there is a hand on his metal shoulder, guiding him down onto the soft mattress. His head hits a pillow and something is drawn over him-a blanket, he realizes hazily, and Steve is speaking but his words swirl away and then Steve is leaving and the soldier sinks into peaceful darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The knee brace


	3. Chapter 3

Steve enters the briefing room, sitting down heavily across from Agent Hill, Sam, and Natasha. 

"How is he?" Hill questions.

Steve blows out a breath. "I don't even know. He's asleep right now." He looks up, anger sparking. "Did you know he hadn't received food or water or medical care this whole time? He's injured, badly, and hadn't eaten or drank anything in probably twelve hours, and that's after fighting and with an enhanced metabolism. He's also going into withdrawal, since they had him on a shit-ton of drugs, but no one cared to inform anyone about that, either. We've been keeping him restrained, without basic care, and asking him questions he can't answer. It's torture. He has no reason to think we're any better than Hydra."

Hill looks down. "I didn't know. I was looking into his identity and I assumed the agents who processed him would give him food and water. And I had no idea he was injured. They didn't note anything when they processed him and, well...there was nothing in his expression or mannerisms to indicate he was in pain."

"Yeah, because he's so used to pain that he doesn't even react," Steve grits out. "Jesus, Hill, he must have been in so much pain. I mean, broken ribs, fractured arm, torn ACL, head injury, his leg..." He shakes his head. "His leg looks like someone went at it with a chainsaw. And the metal arm is freaking...like, welded into his skin and he said it hurt so that means every time he uses it..." He clenches his fist. "Do you want to know what he said? He said, 'everything hurts.'  _Everything._ And he's been just sitting in that chair all day, restrained, and going into withdrawal from enough fentanyl to down an elephant so you can bet he was in pain. I can't-we're getting him help, Hill. He needs help."

Hill nods. "We are, Steve. We haven't held him for 72 hours yet so that gives us time, but we need to get defense counsel in here. The government wants his head, but I'm going to petition the attorney general to get a psychologist in here first thing tomorrow and have him declared incompetent to stand trial. Then he'll stay here under criminal commitment while we attempt to rehabilitate him. If or when he becomes competent we'll move to get him an NGRI."

"Go home, Steve," Natasha says softly. "There's nothing else you can do tonight."

"I second that," Sam says. "It's been a hell of a day. We only took down Hydra this morning. You need rest just as much as Barnes, and speaking of injuries, he got you pretty good. Take your own advice and take some pain meds and go the fuck to sleep, man."

Steve chuckles, though it hurts his ribs. "Okay, Sam." He turns to Hill. "I'll be back early tomorrow morning, call me if you need me?"

Hill smirks slightly. "I won't."

Steve rolls his eyes, getting up with a groan. "Alright, as long as all of you go home as well. Nat, I seem to remember you getting shot only yesterday." He looks pointedly at her shoulder, where white bandages peek through. 

Nat scowls. "It's a graze. But point taken, Rogers." She gets up as well, tugging Sam out of his chair. "Come on, let's all go home. I could use a bubble bath, and about a pound of mac and cheese."

"You ask and I will deliver," Sam says, looping an arm around her waist. They follow Steve out of the room with a wave from Hill, drooping with exhaustion.

***

Steve lays in bed, exhausted but mind still whirling with thoughts. It's hard to believe the Hydra takedown was only this morning, after everything that has happened. He knows he should be more concerned with Hydra, but his thoughts are consumed by wide blue eyes, the shattered shell of a person who has been imprisoned and tortured for ten years under all their noses. When Steve had signed up to be the first to receive the super-soldier serum, all he'd thought about was joining the army and doing good. He had, he thinks, had earned the name "Captain America" and fought against the terrorist group Hydra throughout Europe, destroying bases and ensuring peace before leaving the army to join Shield. But he had been the only successful serum recipient, the creator, Dr. Erskine, killed by Hydra and all of his work dying with him. And it had only prompted Hydra to try and make their own serum, moving into Afghanistan so they could capture US soldiers and experiment on them, one such person being Sergeant Barnes, who Steve had rescued only for him to fall into their hands again. In the end, Steve is almost responsible for his fate. If the serum hadn't worked, Hydra wouldn't have tried to recreate it, and if he hadn't rescued Sergeant Barnes maybe he wouldn't have fallen into their hands later. Maybe he would have died on that table.  _No,_ Steve thinks. He can't regret that. He can't regret saving him from the torture then. Maybe they just would have had Barnes earlier, and everything would be the same. But still, their lives are inextricably linked now, and Steve feels a responsibility for Barnes. He'll help him if it's the last thing he does.

God, just watching him today had been horrifying. He'd been so...compliant, with Bruce, just following instructions blindly and not even flinching. The only time he had, when Bruce tried to touch his head, he'd freaked out and said  _I won't move. Please. I'll be still,_ which had clearly indicated he'd been made to stay still while they did things to him. It's sickening. And he'd looked so...small, in the white scrubs, with his wide blue eyes and long tangled hair, bare feet criss-crossed with scars on the soles and body utterly limp and compliant, like a rag doll. He'd looked nothing like the terrifying assassin who had faced Steve on the causeway or the Helicarriers, no eyes narrowed in ferocious rage or body coiled and strikes deadly, dripping with weapons and spinning knives like they were part of him. It was almost hard to believe it was the same person, even though it had only been hours since they fought. And he is a  _person._ He's just a confused, scared  _person_ who doesn't deserve anything that's happened to him. Steve had watched him, had seen the exhausted droop of his eyes and the desperate way he'd eaten, the way his right hand had shaken and his eyes had finally fluttered closed in peaceful sleep as he'd laid him down, and wondered how anyone could do what Hydra did to him. He's so undeniably _human_ that it breaks Steve's heart. And he doesn't even know the full extent of what Hydra did, either, is only going off of one video, the base, and Barnes' reactions to things. He's not sure he wants to know everything they did.  _Ten years,_ he thinks. Ten years of imprisonment, torture, and brainwashing. He wonders if there's even any hope for recovery. 

He falls asleep this way, dreams filled with haunting blue eyes and a hand reaching out, begging him  _please, please help me._

***

He wakes early the next morning, stiff and sore but refreshed and injuries healing well. When he gets to the Shield facility briefing room Maria, Nat, and Sam are already there, joined by Bruce and three people he doesn't know, two men and a woman. They turn at his entrance, Steve noting one of the men has glasses and a cane indicating visual impairment.

"Good morning," he says.

Sam and Nat raise their coffees and Hill gives him a nod. "Captain. This is Matt Murdock and Franklin Nelson from Nelson and Murdock, and their assistant Karen Page. They've agreed to take Barnes' case."

The names click and Steve recognizes them all of a sudden. Right. Nelson and Murdock. They've made a huge name for themselves in defending unique cases, often inhumans, and advocating for justice. Murdock himself is an inhuman, with extrasensory capabilities.

Steve extends a hand towards Nelson. "Nice to meet you." 

"It's-it's an honor, Captain Rogers," Nelson sputters, shaking his hand vigorously. "Wow. Just, wow. Sorry, I'm shaking your hand too long."

Steve chuckles. "It's fine. I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Nelson. What you do is amazing." 

"Oh please, call me Foggy. Everyone does."

"Very well. Call me Steve." He moves to Matt, shaking his hand. "I can't thank you guys enough for agreeing to take this on."

Matt smiles. "We love unique cases. This is right up our alley. If Barnes is innocent, then we'll prove it."

Steve shakes Karen's hand and then steps back. "Alright, so what do we got?"

Hill steps forward. "Dr. Banner has been going through the scans and tests and Stark, our tech genius, is analyzing the tapes from the bank. Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock have petitioned the court for an evaluation of competence, so a psychologist should be arriving later today. This is a unique case so don't expect the government to play by the rules, but we have enough power on our side to fend them off. We should start by presenting the evidence we have to our defense team here and letting them talk to Barnes. Our surveillance says he's still asleep, so when he wakes up we'll make sure he's comfortable and then do an interview."

Steve nods. "Sounds good. Where do you want to start with evidence?"

"Let's just run through the whole story of yesterday and then we'll move to evidence from the bank and Bruce's findings."

"Okay." Steve turns to Matt and Foggy. "We should sit down. This might take a while."

***

He's just finished detailing the day before, ending with Barnes finally getting to rest. Hill had showed clips from the interrogation, Steve watching as Matt cocked his head to hear, unable to see the screen. Now they're moving on to the part Steve is dreading, the evidence. 

Stark walks through the door, dark circles under his eyes and coffee in hand. "Hey everyone. Ready for psychological scarring?"

Hill narrows her eyes at him. "Have you slept?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. That's irrelevant. Listen, there's ten years of footage from that bank. Even with Jarvis's help and top-speed analyzing of all of it it's hard to know what to focus on. Just tell me what you need to know."

"Just take us through the main points," Steve says. "How they turned him into this, proof he wasn't a willing participant."

Stark sighs. "Alright. Just warning you, I may have thrown up twice, maybe three times. It's not for the faint-hearted."

Steve looks around the room, seeing no hesitancy. He nods. "We're good. Go ahead."

"Okay." Stark waves his hand and video appears on the screen, a still of Barnes on the table in the vault, left arm a half-healed stump and hair short, only a surgical sheet over his waist and his left leg a twisted mass of flesh, still raw with burns and littered with lines of black stitches. "This is like, day one," Stark says. "Looks like they took him from wherever, patched him up just enough and then brought him here. The injuries are probably from the helicopter crash." He plays the video, Steve knowing Jarvis is dictating into an earpiece in Matt's ear. In the video Barnes is lying limply on the table but awake, eyes wandering blearily and glazed with pain and straps across his chest and hips pinning him in place. Men in white coats approach, speaking quietly as they inspect Barnes' arm and leg, poking and prodding with clinical fingers as Barnes' face contorts in pain.

"Stop," he slurs. "Wha-?"

The doctors ignore him, focused on his leg now. 

"Pins," one says audibly, running a finger down his leg from thigh to shin. "Don't need to replace it like the arm, but reinforce it with metal. Should work."

The other doctor nods. "Alright, let's get him prepped for surgery."

"Where-?" Barnes slurs. "Hey-what are you-?"

A doctor moves to Barnes' remaining arm, holding up a needle. Barnes' eyes widen and he looks around in panic.

"What-what are you doing, where am I-"

The doctor grabs Barnes arm, sliding the needle in. Barnes tries to move but his face contorts in pain again, eyes squeezing shut.

"No, no, not again, no, please-"

The doctor forces the mask over Barnes' face and his features gradually go slack as the anesthesia takes hold. The video stops, then fasts-forwards.

"We can see what they did to his leg on the scans," Stark says. "Bunch of metal pins and shit. But anyway, when they were done they threw him in a cell, still down an arm." The video stops and changes to the inside of the cell, only the cot visible in its line of sight, thankfully. The wall is bare of tally marks and gouges. Barnes is sitting on the cot with his back against the other wall behind the head, legs stretched out in front of him and right shoulder pressed into the corner. He's biting his lip, pain etched into his features and dressed in white scrubs similar to the ones he's wearing now. The video plays and Barnes leans forward slightly, gritting his teeth visibly.

"Alright Barnes, get it together," he murmurs, barely audible. He reaches for his left pant leg with his right hand, tugging it up as his eyes squeeze shut and his face contorts in pain. Finally he manages to tug it past his knee, opening his eyes as he pants for breath audibly. 

His leg is covered in bandages but Barnes starts to tear them away with a shaky hand, breaths harsh in the silence. Finally he unravels the last one, staring at his leg in horror. There are more straight lines of stitches over and around his knee from the surgery, raw flesh looking slightly more healed but now turning into twisted scars.

"Fuck," Barnes whispers. He swallows before clumsily replacing the bandages and tugging his pant leg back down, leaning against the wall again. His head thunks back and his eyes close, mouth trembling like he's about to cry. He takes a shaky breath and the video stops.

"So they left him in there a few days but yeah, that's the cell he's been kept in for ten years," Stark says. "Honestly the least horrifying video I could find of it. No windows, no human contact, nothing to do. It's been proven solitary isolation is extremely damaging for mental health so we can safely say this cell didn't help his mental state." He takes a breath. "Alright, so then after his leg was like, passably healed they made him do physical therapy, if physical therapy was done in hell." The next video pops up of the training room, Barnes standing in the middle surrounded by guards and doctors. It plays, Barnes swaying where he stands with teeth gritted, hair damp with sweat and left arm still missing. 

"Walk," one of the doctors instructs. 

"Fuck you," Barnes spits.

One of the guards steps forward, jabbing what looks like a cattle prod into Barnes' ribs. He cries out, falling to one knee.

"Get up," the doctor says. 

Barnes looks murderous and hesitates for a second but when the guard steps forward again he grits his teeth and pushes himself to his feet, staggering.

"Walk," the doctor repeats.

Barnes takes a trembling step forward, face twisting as weight lands on the left leg and he immediately limps off it, swaying dangerously, unbalanced with only one arm. The guard jabs him with the cattle prod again.

"No limping," the doctor says. "Ignore the pain."

Barnes heaves himself to his feet again and starts forwards, face contorted and body shaking as he puts weight on the left leg. He makes it a few steps before his expression breaks and a sob rips from his throat, Barnes stopping and resting his weight on his right leg, clearly in agony.

The guard jabs him with the cattle prod again and Barnes falls, right knee on the floor and left bent awkwardly under him, tears starting to make tracks down his sweaty face.

"Keep going."

Barnes shakes his head, teeth gritted. "I  _can't."_

The guard jabs him again. Barnes stays where he is, panting heavily. Two guards move forward and grab him, hauling him upwards onto his feet. 

"Walk."

Barnes takes a step forward, then another, left leg stiff and dragging awkwardly, a limp in his step and choked off sobs emitting from his throat. His shirt is soaked through with sweat, hair plastered to his head and body trembling as he edges across the room slowly, marked by more jabs by the guard and sharp orders from the doctor. Finally he makes it to the end, stopping, expression slightly glazed as he sways.

"You may stop," the doctor says.

Barnes' eyes roll back in his head and he collapses to the floor, unconscious.

The video stops. Stark clears his throat. "So, yeah, physical therapy from hell. That's why he doesn't limp now even though that leg must still cause him problems. Next is the arm, it took a few weeks for them to make that." The next video flashes up and plays, Barnes on the table again strapped down and asleep, mask over his face. Doctors are cutting into his shoulder, the stump of his arm removed until there is nothing but a bare socket. Stark fast-forwards the video slightly and Steve watches as they replace both collarbones, a couple ribs on each side, his scapula, and part of his spine with metal, attaching and securing them with synthetic tissue. A metal plate goes over his shoulder, secured with pins and synthetic tissue into the metal collarbone, scapula, and ribs on that side and welded into the skin, the edge folded over into his flesh in a deep score where Steve knows there are scars now. Then they build up the arm over it, mimicking the anatomy of his shoulder and arm but using plates and servers and interlocking parts, the red star of Hydra embossed on the shoulder. Finally it is done, gleaming silver under the harsh lights, beautiful and yet horrifying. They take the mask off Barnes, waiting as they scribble notes. Stark fast-forwards more a bit until Barnes wakes up, lids fluttering as he comes back to awareness slowly. He blinks heavily, looking around, before his eyes fall on his left arm and he raises both hands, expression a mix of awe and horror as he studies the metal one. The doctor comes over, bending over the arm, and Steve sees Barnes' expression going dark, metal hand shooting out to grip the doctor's throat. The doctor chokes before another stabs a needle into Barnes' leg and he goes limp, metal hand falling to the table. The video stops.

"So, not happy with the arm," Stark says. "Or rather, not happy with Hydra. Definitely didn't consent to this. Then there's more physical therapy from hell for the arm, since it seems to throw his whole balance off. Honestly, I could definitely build better. It definitely pulls on his spine and muscles because it's heavier than the other arm, and even though they reinforced his bones that's a lot of strain and soft tissue damage. Here, let's have a look at one of the PT sessions."

On the screen Barnes is in the training room, guards all around and doctors scribbling notes. One holds up a soft ball.

"Catch this with the arm." He throws it to Barnes, Barnes catching it with the metal hand and scowling. Steve sees the moment the idea takes hold and Barnes whips the ball back, hitting the doctor square in the forehead. It's soft and bounces off, but Steve has to force down a laugh at the startled expression on the doctor's face, Barnes giving a satisfied smile. One of the guards moves forwards, jamming the cattle prod into his ribs. Barnes doubles over in pain and it withdraws.

"Fuck off," Barnes snarls, straightening up and glaring at the guard.

"Make a fist," the doctor says.

Barnes glares.

The guard moves forward and Barnes flinches, raising his hands. "Okay, okay, fine, whatever." He makes a fist with the metal hand. "Happy?"

"Now rotate it."

Barnes rotates it, the plates rippling and expression murderous. The doctors make more notes on their clipboards.

"Okay now rotate the whole arm at the shoulder."

Barnes goes to rotate it but winces, hand going to his shoulder. " _Fuck._ "

"Ignore the pain. Rotate it."

Barnes grits his teeth and does as instructed, the arm whirring loudly as he wrenches it around. The doctors nod, writing down more notes.

"Good." One throws the ball back to Barnes. "Okay, squeeze this lightly."

Barnes squeezes it, the foam compressing slightly. 

"Can you feel it?"

He nods, frowning down at it. "Pressure but not-not anything else."

The doctors nod. "Fine motor skills seem good," one murmurs to the other. "Let's move on."

"Okay, walk around the room."

Barnes raises an eyebrow but starts forward, no limp but path zigzagging slightly as he lists to the left with the weight of the metal arm, wincing. His feet are bare, Steve notices.

"Straighten up."

Barnes does with visible effort, teeth gritted and sweat beading on his brow.

"Good. Muscles will build to compensate," one doctor comments to the next. "Relearning balance won't take long."

Barnes is still walking around the room, back stiff with the effort of remaining straight. Finally the video stops.

"So yeah, it takes a little while for him to adjust to this, but then once he does you can bet that he used that arm to kill a lot of Hydra. But they-they tortured him for it. Don't say I didn't warn you." Stark plays another video, in the training room again. Barnes is in the middle, guards surrounding him in a large circle but two agents closer to him.

"Spar," the doctor orders. "Use the arm."

The agents come at Barnes, Barnes defending himself and beginning to fight back. He's way less skilled than when he had faced Steve, probably having no more than basic hand-to-hand training for the army. Then he starts to use the metal arm, smashing his fist into an agent's face as his eyes light up with revelation. He takes the other agent down with a hand to the throat, lunging across the room for the guards. They're caught off guard, two going down before the others manage to jam the cattle prod against Barnes' side, sending him to the floor as they don't let up. Barnes grabs the prod with the metal arm, yanking it away as the guards' expressions become panicked. He hauls himself to his feet with admirable grace, using the metal arm as a shield for the cattle prods and managing to take down two more guards before the rest overwhelm him and restrain his arms, cattle prod pressed against his stomach as he cries out. The guards proceed to drag him from the room, the camera shifting and following them until they get to the small room with the torture table. They throw him on, still struggling, and strap him down, cuffing his wrists and ankles. One of the guards with a slightly different uniform stands next to Barnes' right side, looking down at him.

"You will not fight back," he says. "You will only follow orders."

He grabs Barnes' right hand, gripping his index finger as Barnes' eyes widen. "Failure to comply will be met with punishment. You know this."

He yanks, and Barnes' finger breaks with a sickening crack, a small cry of pain falling from his lips. The man moves to his middle finger, snapping it as Barnes grits his teeth and chokes off a scream, eyes squeezing shut. The ring and pinky finger follow, each crack echoing loudly and making Steve's stomach turn. Then the man grabs a hammer, positioning it over Barnes' forearm. It comes down with a horrible crunch, a muffled scream torn from Barnes' throat as he arches on the table. Finally the man steps back, moving towards the table. He picks up a blowtorch and a knife, moving back to stand at Barnes' feet. He turns the blowtorch on as Barnes' face fills with terror, holding the knife under it until it glows red.

"No, no nononono," Barnes says frantically. "Oh god, no, please-"

The man draws the knife across the bottom of his foot and Barnes screams. Steve thinks he's going to be sick. The man continues to heat the knife and carve criss-crossed lines into Barnes' feet as he screams, exactly like the scars Steve had noted but not as many, telling him this happened more than once. 

"Please, p-please, stop, please," Barnes sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please stop. Make it stop, make it stop-"

The man stops, setting down the tools and meeting Barnes' eyes. "You will not fight back."

"I won't, I won't, just make it stop, please-"

The man undoes the straps, hauling Barnes off the table. Barnes cries out when his feet hit the floor but the man shoves him forward.

"Walk."

Barnes walks, tears still making tracks down his face and teeth gritted in pain, broken arm and fingers held to his chest. His feet leave bloody trails on the floor and he sobs with every step, the camera switching and following them as the guards lead Barnes back to the training room. They lead him into the middle again, encircling him as an agent steps forward.

"Spar," the man orders. The agent strikes out and Barnes barely counters it with the metal arm, agony in his expression with every movement. 

"Try harder," the man says. "Failure will be met with punishment."

Barnes grits his teeth and his eyes narrow, lashing out at the agent with a cry, stumbling off balance with his right arm down and bloody feet slipping on the floor. The agent strikes him across the face and Barnes lashes out again with the metal arm, sending the agent flying. 

"Again." Another agent comes forward, squaring up with Barnes. Barnes eyes have gone dead, dilated with pain and far-off, as if he is removed from his body. His motions are mechanical, swinging out with the metal arm and countering the agent's strikes before dealing his own. Finally he manages to knock the agent down and staggers, breathing heavily. The floor is smeared with blood from his feet.

"Good. You may stop," the man says. The guards grab Barnes' arms and lead him out of the room, the camera shifting as they throw him in his cell. Barnes drags himself to the cot, sitting back against the wall with legs stretched out and broken arm cradled to his chest. He leans his head against the wall and then he starts to cry.

The video stops. Stark clears his throat. "So, yeah, he tried to fight back at first but...eventually he stopped really trying, at least for the small stuff. You can see why." He takes a shaky breath. "Okay, so after Barnes is all physically fit this is where Pierce comes in, or at least where we see him for the first time." A new video flashes up, Barnes strapped down to the godforsaken table with reinforced cuffs on his wrists and ankles as well as the straps, the table inclined so Barnes' head is below his feet. A young Pierce stands by his head, guards on either side. 

"What is your name?" Pierce asks.

"James Barnes, Sergeant, 32557038," Barnes says flatly, staring at the ceiling.

"Who do you belong to?"

"The US Army."

"You don't have a name. You belong to Hydra," Pierce says.

He gestures to the guards and they move forward, one laying a cloth over Barnes' face and pulling it tight. Another takes a jug of water, starting to pour it over Barnes' face in short amounts. Barnes starts to thrash, choking and gagging beneath the cloth until finally they stop, pulling the cloth away as he gasps for breath only to repeat it again. Finally they step back, Barnes sucking in ragged breaths.

"What is your name?" Pierce repeats.

"James Barnes, Sergeant, 32557038," Barnes gasps out.

"Who do you belong to?"

"The US Army."

Pierce nods and the guards move forward again, pulling the cloth tight over Barnes' face and pouring water as he strains against the restraints. The video stops and fast-forwards an hour, Barnes trembling and taking rasping breaths on the table, eyes glazed.

"James...Barnes...Sergeant...three two...five five...seven...zero...three eight. James-James Barnes....Sergeant...three two five....five seven...zero three eight. James-"

The guards step forward and Barnes' face crumples.

"No, please, stop, please-"

"Who do you belong to?" Pierce questions.

Barnes closes his eyes for a moment before opening them, something dead behind them. "Not Hydra," he rasps. "Never. Do whatever you want, I'll never help you."

Pierce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He turns to the guards. "Keep going until he breaks."

One of the guards hesitates. "But...it could cause permanent damage."

"Then you best be careful. I need him functional." Pierce turns, walking out of the room as the video stops.

"He didn't," Stark says. "Break, that is. Passed out first, never gave them anything. And he explicitly says he'll never help Hydra whatever they do to him. So that's a pretty big indicator he's innocent here. You play this, you have the jury eating out of your hand."

Matt clears his throat. "Unfortunately, this doesn't prove he wasn't responsible for the crimes, that he didn't know right from wrong at the time. It's horrible, sure, but not enough for an NGRI."

Stark nods. "I know. Don't worry, we're getting there. This is just the setup. So basically, they tortured Barnes for...a few months before they made the chair. And I mean torture. That stuff before and waterboarding was only the tip of the iceberg. Electric shocks, sensory deprivation, sleep deprivation, beatings, good old-fashioned knives, you name it. And Barnes, well, he didn't give in, per-say, but no one can withstand months of nonstop torture. Like I said, he stopped fighting back against the little things, which was basically just the daily routine of training and torture and whatever they ordered him to do. There didn't really seem to be a point to the torture except to wear him down and make him into a perfect soldier. I think they wanted stuff to stick after they wiped his memory. Unfortunately, they did get him to kill prisoners they brought in, but not through torture. He wouldn't break, so they ended up-" Stark swallows. "They ended up killing one guy really slowly in front of him, though I'd rather not watch that again right now. Guess Barnes figured after that that they would die anyway but it was a bullet through the head from him or a slow death from Hydra." Stark shrugs. "I really don't blame him. I'd do the same thing. They never tried to take him outside the base, though. I think their plan all along was to use the chair, but they wanted to establish a firm basis that would persist after they wiped his memories. He'd remember enough to be afraid of Hydra and to want to obey orders but he wouldn't have his memories to tell him to fight back or that what he was doing was wrong. Here, let's see the first time they used the chair."

The video comes up, the chair empty. Then Barnes comes through the door flanked by guards, eyes dead and haunted, hair growing out slightly and curling around his ears. He sees the chair and stops dead. Guards grab him and wrestle him into the chair, Barnes only putting up a token fight before the cuffs snap over his arms.

"What kind of fresh hell-" he mumbles.

Pierce steps up and backhands him across the face. "You don't speak unless spoken to."

Barnes glares at him but stays silent. Pierce steps back, nodding to the doctors. They type on the monitors and the chair whirs to life, metal halo descending over Barnes' head. Barnes starts to panic, eyes flitting around and arms straining against the cuffs before the clamps tighten around his head and he starts to scream. The video fast-forwards until the clamps release his head, Barnes breathing harshly.

Pierce steps up. "What is your name?"

Barnes' brow furrows. "I...J-James. James...Barnes. Sergeant. Three two...three two five five...seven...seven..." He frowns, eyes searching. "Seven..."

"You don't have a name," Pierce cuts in. "Who do you belong to?"

Barnes squints. "I....the-the US."

"You belong to Hydra." Pierce nods at the techs. "Again."

Barnes blinks, looking confused. "What-no, no, what are you-what-no, no please-" The clamps tighten around his head and the screams start again. The video fast-forwards.

Barnes' chest heaves, body trembling. Pierce steps up.

"What is your name?"

Barnes' eyes flick around, brow furrowed in thought. "I....Bucky. My name is Bucky." It's like a dagger to Steve's chest.

"You don't have a name. Who do you belong to?"

"I...I don't-I don't know, I...." Barnes squints. "The-" His expression clears. "The US," he says, looking relieved.

"You belongl to Hydra."

Barnes frowns. "No, no I-no. I don't-" He shakes his head. "No. That's-that's not-"

"Again."

"No." Barnes looks upset, face crumpled in pained confusion. "No, no, why-why are you doing this, what-I don't-I don't understand-"

The screams start. The video fast-forwards.

"What is your name?"

"I...I don't...have a name?" Bucky looks at Pierce as if searching for the answer.

Pierce nods. "Correct. Who do you belong to?"

"I...Hydra?"

"Correct."

But Barnes frowns. "No that's-that's not right," he mutters. "No, I-no, I... _Bucky,"_ he breathes, looking up at Pierce. "No, my-my name is  _Bucky."_

"Again."

Barnes just looks helplessly confused, but his breathing picks up as the halo whirs over his head, face falling in terror. The video stops and fast-forwards.

"What is your name?"

Barnes breathes deeply, eyes dead. "I don't have a name."

"Correct. Who do you belong to?"

"Hydra."

"Correct. You are Hydra's. You are the soldier. I am your handler, Alexander Pierce. What do you remember?"

"I....pain. Orders. Training. You."

"Good. That is all you need to know. You will follow orders and carry out missions for Hydra to ensure world peace. Failure to comply will be met with punishment. Do you understand?"

Barnes' expression is blank. "Yes."

The video stops. "So yeah," Stark says, "they wiped his memories and basically just told him that he was an assassin for Hydra, nothing else. But because of his enhancements his memories would start to come back after a few weeks, so they had to keep wiping them. For  _ten years._ Every few weeks, give or take, for ten years. And because they were still not confident that wiping his memories was enough they kept up the torture to keep him under their control." Stark sighs. "Dehumanization. They made him believe he wasn't a person, so he didn't object to anything because he didn't think he had any agency or say. He literally thought, well, thinks, he's a weapon, not a human being. And Pierce still had to tell him that Hydra was doing good in the world. They literally had him under such tight control and yet he still fought back occasionally whenever he regained even a speck of memory. Like, look, I know Steve and Sam and Nat saw this but you guys haven't. This is after he fought Steve on the causeway. Steve was the one who originally rescued him from a Hydra base back in 2002, and he managed to fucking remember after twelve years and dozens of wipes."

The video plays, the one Steve saw in the bank. Barnes- _Bucky,_ he thinks, that was what he had called himself in the end, the last shred of his identity-lashes out at the techs before Pierce comes in, backhanding him with the crack that still makes Steve's stomach turn.

"The man on the bridge. Who was he?"

"You met him earlier this week on another assignment."

"I knew him."

"You work has been a gift to mankind. You've shaped the decade..."

"But I  _remember."_

"Wipe him, and start over."

Finally the video stops as he begins to scream.

"So," Stark says. "There's a lot more material, ten years worth, but is that enough to give you a rough idea right now?"

Foggy nods, Karen looking pale and shaken next to him. "Yeah." His voice is rough. "That's-that's definitely enough." 

Bruce steps forward. "So, this doesn't necessarily relate to the case but we need to discuss everything we've found from our scans and such so we can start treating him."

Steve nods. "Yeah. It is evidence that he wasn't in his right mind, though. What were the drugs again?"

Bruce taps on his tablet and blood results show up on the screen, labeled. "Okay, so he had high doses of amphetamine-Adderall, is what you would know it as-and fentanyl, which is a very strong opioid. The amount of fentanyl in his blood would take down an elephant and the amphetamine would send a normal person into cardiac arrest. Due to his enhancement, which closely resembles Steve's, they did neither, but they definitely contributed to his ability to just...keep going. He probably has chronic pain from the leg and the shoulder, so while he was trained not to acknowledge pain the opioid helped to keep him fighting smoothly without the distraction. The amphetamine would keep him alert and focused even when exhausted or sleep-deprived, probably because when he sleeps his brain heals and memories come back, so they tried to keep him awake as much as possible. On top of that he was given an SSRI-an antidepressant-although I don't really know exactly why. Maybe because they did so much brain damage and he was under such constant stress that he could have been very depressed or anxious and they needed to keep him stable. Speaking of stable, he also was given an anti-convulsant, though I'm not sure if that's because the chair might trigger seizures or because they used it as a mood stabilizer, which this particular one can be used as. We'll have to keep him under watch to make sure he doesn't have a seizure if it's the first one."

Steve nods. "And he's in withdrawal."

"Well, just from the stimulant right now since we gave him the fentanyl. But when the SSRI wears off he'll likely have an increase in depression and anxiety and again we don't know about the anti-convulsant. The stimulant withdrawal will just make him very fatigued and less able to concentrate and may cause changes in sleep or appetite but it's not dangerous."

"Okay, what about the injuries?"

Bruce swallows. "Well, that's worse, in the sense that what I found from the tests makes me want to strangle every last member of Hydra. The injuries he sustained recently such as the broken arm and ACL tear should heal quickly, but it's what the scans showed that's concerning." Images flash up on the screen, x-rays of Bucky's whole body. Bruce moves closer, using a finger to point. "Judging by the calcifications almost every single bone in his body has been broken at least once." Steve can see them, the faint white lines marring the bones. God, that's horrifying. "And here's what his leg looks like just under x-ray." The image of the leg expands, showing plates and screws reinforcing the bones from halfway up his femur to halfway down his tibia, more screws set into the knee joint. The image disappears to be replaced by a scan of the leg, Bruce scrolling through the layers as it shows blotches of scar tissue all throughout the leg and knee.

"This is some pretty serious damage, and they basically just reinforced everything so it wouldn't give out under him, but it is definitely causing him pain," Bruce says.  "There's significant soft tissue damage, including musculature, which would make this leg weaker than the other one no matter how much he tried to use it. Unfortunately, there's not much we can do at this point. It's healed as best it ever will, and the plates and screws _are_ helping to stabilize it. We might be able to do surgery to try and get some of the scar tissue out but it won't help that much. I'd say pain management and rest are our best bets."

Steve grimaces. Jesus, Bucky is going to be in pain the rest of his life. "What about the arm?"

Bruce sighs. "Pretty much the same deal. You saw the surgery and the scan just confirms it." The scan comes up, the replaced bones standing out starkly and the shoulder a mess of scar tissue and torn muscles even Steve can see, a harsh line where the plating meets his skin. "We may be able to replace the arm with something less heavy and damaging, though it would be an extensive surgery." Bruce turns to Stark. "Tony, you said you could design better?"

Stark nods. "Oh yeah, definitely. Way lighter, attach it differently....I could do it."

"Alright, so we may be able to fix that slightly, though it will probably still bother him forever." Bruce sighs. "Again, just pain management and not using it so much so he stops tearing up his shoulder. The real issue here is brain damage." Scans of Bucky's brain flash up on the screen, the white blobs visible even to Steve's untrained eye. "There's extensive lesions to his memory centers from the wipes, which seem to target long-term episodic memories. They left most of the semantic, meaning that he would know things without having any actual episodic memories of them. But with their technology they were able to fine-tune it to erase even some of the semantic from before Hydra, so he didn't remember his name or any knowledge beforehand that wasn't critical to his functionality. Procedural memories stayed intact, such as knowing how to fire a gun or eat. Basically, all he remembered was knowledge from Hydra such as his handler, orders, and that he would be tortured if he didn't follow them along with all his skills that kept accumulating over the years. That's it. No sense of self, nothing except whatever Hydra told him. They probably could have told him anything and he'd just accept it because he had no basis or reason to disagree."

"So he wouldn't remember it being wrong to kill someone?" Matt questions.

Bruce winces. "He might have, possibly, but remember that he was a soldier in the army. He killed people and it was seen as right. Same thing here. He wouldn't think twice because he...well, he didn't think. He just followed orders, and he trusted implicitly that they were right. He never had any cause to question them because he didn't have any memories to refute them. And when he did get some memories back, he did question them. We know that. And we can't discount the torture. Even if,  _if_ he had any inkling that it was wrong he'd literally been tortured into submission for ten years and conditioned to follow orders without question. There's absolutely no way Barnes is in any way responsible for his actions."

Matt nods. "I agree. You said the memories came back, though?"

Bruce nods. "Yeah, after a few weeks, give or take, depending on if anything triggered a memory like Steve did. His enhancement means that his brain is actually healing which is good news for his recovery, in a way. Eventually he should remember, if not everything, then close to everything. But on the other hand, well, he'll remember everything. That's eleven years of torture and ten of assassinating people, with the blood on his hands even though he wasn't responsible. I-" Bruce pauses. "I'm honestly not sure if he can really recover. Remembering may, well, to use the layman's term, make him go insane. It's just...too much for anyone to handle. For the human brain to even comprehend." Bruce sighs. "I don't know. I hope he can recover. He's just...he's a person, whoever he is now, and he needs our help."

There's a minute of silence in the room as they process this.

"Okay," Steve says. "I think that's everything. Are we ready for an interview?"

Tony nods. "Jarvis says Barnes is awake. If our lawyers are ready?"

Matt and Foggy nod. "We're ready," Foggy says. "Karen?"

She nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."

Steve stands up, taking a breath. "Alright, let's go."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NGRI=Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity  
> "Insanity" is not a psychological definition in law and doesn't mean mental illness, it simply means the person didn't know right from wrong at the time of the crime. 
> 
> When someone is declared incompetent to stand trial it means they are "unable to understand the character and consequences of the proceedings against him or her or is unable properly to assist in his or her defense" so they are criminally committed to a psychiatric facility indefinitely until they are declared competent to stand trial.


	4. Chapter 4

The soldier sits on the bed, waiting. It has been some time since he's woken up, since he was allowed to sleep for a long time and the pain went away and now the pain is still there but it is less-it is less though the soldier is still tired and hungry and thirsty but he waits, he has to wait-

The door opens, Steve stepping through carrying a tray with food and water. He smiles at the soldier.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

The soldier doesn't-he doesn't know how to answer that he has to-he has to respond, respond  _immediately-_

"I am functional."

Steve grimaces. "Right." He sets the tray down next to the soldier. "Here's some more food and water, and then there's some people here to talk to you, if that's okay."

It is-it is not a question and the soldier doesn't know how to respond so he doesn't, he picks up the food and eats, not tasting it as he focuses on getting it down. Then he drinks the water, small sips as instructed before and it is better, the hunger and thirst have abated for now, he is functional-

"-ready?"

What. Is he-is he ready? For what-the people, he remembers, there are people here to talk to him and he remembers questions and pain, always pain and he doesn't-he doesn't  _want_ to be he must, he has to comply and  _respond,_ he has to respond-

"Yes."

"Okay. They're right outside, we're going to talk in the room where you and I talked before, but you won't be restrained. The cuff is still on your metal arm, but it won't do anything unless you try to hurt someone. Okay?"

He doesn't-he doesn't know how to respond, why do they keep asking  _okay_ but the answer-the answer always works- 

"Yes."

"Alright, let's go." Steve turns towards the door and the soldier gets up, following him. His body is stiff and sore but functional and his head is clearer though exhaustion still dogs at his heels and fogs his brain but it is better, the pain is better-

He sits down in the chair by the table, left arm flat on the chair but right cradled to his chest with the sling and his hair tickles his face but he doesn't move, he's not allowed-

"Okay, they're going to come in," Steve is saying. He opens the door and three people file in, not what-not what the soldier expected, it is two men and a woman but only one man moves with the grace that suggests a threat though he has a cane, that doesn't make sense but the soldier knows that he is a threat and the others, the others are not a physical threat and their eyes are kind but it doesn't matter, the doctors never-they never look threatening but they are worse-they are worse-

"Hello, I'm Matt," the man with the cane and glasses says. "This is Foggy and Karen. Can we sit?"

Can they-can they sit of course, of course they can-

"Yes."

They pull up chairs on the other side of the table, Steve standing off to the side.

"We're your defense attorneys," Matt says. "Do you know what that means?"

What. No-no, he doesn't, what does that mean-

"No."

"Okay, so you're being charged with crimes, and we're going to prove that you weren't responsible. Do you know what crimes you're being charged with?"

This-this makes no sense, this is not what he expected, what is going on-

"No."

Matt nods. "Okay, you're being charged with multiple assassinations-homicides in the first degree-and terrorism. Do you understand that?"

What. What does-what does that mean, he just-he just did missions, he followed orders, it's not-that wasn't what he did-no, he-

"No."

Matt's mouth tightens. "That's okay. You don't have to right now. We're going to make sure nothing happens to you until you can understand that. Soon, someone is going to come in and they're going to ask you similar questions to determine if you understand what's happening. You just answer them honestly like you did me and that's it. Then you'll stay here and these people are going to help you. Do you understand?"

This is-this is simpler, it is orders, someone will come in and he will answer questions, he knows this, there is pain and questions and he answers, he has to respond and they hurt him but he understands, he does-

"Yes."

The other man-Foggy-leans forward. "Do you have any questions?"

What. What. Does he-does he have any questions? No, no, he is-he is not allowed, he is not allowed to question, they-they will hurt him, he remembers, he asked and they hurt him, they took it away, is this-is this a test, he has-he has questions, everything, he doesn't understand, what is going on, why, whywhywhy but he can't-he can't ask, he's not  _allowed-_

"-can ask whatever you want," Steve is saying. "No one is going to hurt you."

That is-that is a lie, they always-they always hurt him, always, it doesn't stop, it never stops, why won't it stop and he-he never responded, he has to respond, _you will respond when spoken to_ -

"I don't know, I don't-I don't know, I don't know, I don't-"

Foggy raises his hands and the soldier stops, forcing himself back into quiet stillness.

"Okay," Foggy says. "It's okay. We just want to help you."

"I know everything must be very confusing," the woman-Karen-says, and his gaze snaps over to meet hers. _You will look at me when spoken to_. She has kind eyes in a pale face, blonde hair straight and silky over her shoulders. "If you do have any questions, all you have to do is ask."

He keeps his gaze locked on her, something about her unthreatening and setting him at ease. "I-" he says, scanning her eyes for a reaction. She only nods encouragingly. "Why?" he finally asks.

Her voice is soft. "Why what?"

"Why....everything. Why...here. Me. What-what for. Why...I don't-I don't  _understand,_  I don't-" The metal fist clenches on the arm of the chair and his breaths turn shallow before he forces himself back into stillness, numbness muting the edges of everything.

"Well you're-you're here because...Hydra went down and you're in Shield's custody now," Karen tries. "Hydra made you do things that were...wrong, but because we know you didn't have a choice we're trying to help you instead of treating you like a criminal. Some people don't know that it wasn't really you, so they want to hurt you for what you did, but it's our job to stop that from happening. You're here now because we want to help you get better. That's it. Does that-does that help?"

Yes, it-it does, somewhat, it is-it is simpler, he still doesn't understand completely but this is better, it is better than before and they are-they are not punishing him for asking, they don't hurt him-

"Yes." But he frowns, recalling her words.  _Hydra made you do things that were wrong._ "Wrong?"

Karen blinks. "Wrong...?"

"You said-you said...'Hydra made you do things that were wrong.' I don't-I don't understand."

"Oh." Karen takes a deep breath, glancing over at the others. "Oh, um, right." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hydra did bad things, and they made you do bad things. I know you probably-you probably didn't know they were wrong, and we understand that. I don't-" She looks at the others again. "I don't know how to explain this."

Steve steps up, the soldier's gaze flicking to him. "Okay, so, you tried to kill me, right?"

"Yes."

"And that was wrong. I know you were just following orders, but they weren't good orders. Hydra is...bad, bottom line. They're not good. And they did some pretty terrible stuff to you to get you to follow their orders. You didn't deserve that." He takes a breath. "Do you-do you want to kill me right now?"

The soldier blinks.  _What?_ "I don't-I don't have wants."

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, but you could kill me right now. Why don't you?"

The soldier frowns. "There is no mission."

"So you wouldn't kill me unless someone told you to."

"No."

"Then you wouldn't kill me because you  _wanted_ to, only because someone made you. Killing me would be wrong. Hydra made you do wrong things that you wouldn't have done on your own. Does that make sense?"

"I...yes." It-it does, slightly, but it makes his head pound and his thoughts whirl. Hydra is-Hydra is bad? And he was Hydra's so-so he was bad, what he did was...bad, but now he is Shield's and Shield is...good? He opens his mouth. "Shield is....good?"

Steve nods hesitantly. "Yes. Shield is good."

"I am Shield's now."

Steve winces. "You're in Shield's custody, yes."

That-the soldier doesn't know the difference. He pushes it aside. "Orders are...good?"

"Uh-" Steve blows out a breath. "Um, well, we aren't going to order you to do anything, but I suppose this is the best we're gonna get so yes, Shield's orders are good."

This-this makes sense, at least. Shield is good. He is Shield's. He follows Shield's orders. Okay. Okay. He nods slightly, eyes trained on Steve. "Ready to comply."

Steve's face goes pained. "You don't-you don't need to do that," he says softly. "We're not going to make you do anything. No one is, ever again. Okay?"

No he doesn't-he doesn't understand but he is tired and his head pounds and he just-he just repeats the answer that seems to work. "Yes."

"Alright, I think that's enough," Steve says, voice rough. "We'll let you rest for a bit until the psychologist comes in."

The other people nod, getting to their feet. They sweep out of the room and Steve returns a little while later with another tray of food and water, setting it in front of the soldier.

"I figured since your metabolism is close to mine you must be hungry again by now."

The soldier-the soldier is, he thinks, he is hungry and he finishes the food quickly, Steve refilling the cup of water three times until the thirst abates. 

"How are your injuries?" Steve questions. "Are they...do they hurt the same or less than before?"

"Less."

Steve sighs in relief. "Good. That's great. Okay, the psychologist will be here in a minute. He's just going to ask you some questions and that's it. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll be back with him in a minute." Steve exits the room again, leaving the soldier alone. The soldier stares ahead, sinking into blankness as he waits. He is Shield's now, Hydra is gone, Hydra is bad, Shield is good, Steve is good, they do not hurt him though he doesn't know why, they ask questions he cannot answer but they don't-they don't punish him and they are good, he thinks, they are good-

The door opens, a man following Steve into the room. His hair is greying and there are fine lines around his eyes and mouth, eyes piercing and grey as he studies the soldier. 

"This is Dr. Broussard," Steve says. 

The man smiles slightly at him. "Hello. Thank you, Captain Rogers, I can take it from here."

Steve blinks. "Oh, are you-you want me to leave?"

"Your presence could bias his responses, and there are strict confidentiality rules. I would ask for you to refrain from observing or monitoring the interview."

Steve lowers his voice. "What if...what if you need help? If he, you know..."

"Do you have a panic button?"

"Under the table." Steve sighs and then pulls out something, passing it to the doctor. "And this deactivates his metal arm. But he's not...he's not violent. He won't do anything unless someone tells him to. We'll show you all our evidence afterwards."

The doctor nods, slipping the device into his pocket. "Alright. We're all set here. Thank you."

Steve nods, looking back at the soldier. "I'll be right outside." He hesitates before turning and walking from the room, leaving the doctor with the soldier. There's a sound and the mirror opposite the soldier shudders slightly. The camera in the corner blinks off. The doctor approaches the soldier, sliding into a chair opposite him.

"Hello, soldier."

The soldier's gaze flicks to his, waiting. The doctor smiles.

"It's taken us a while to find you. Hydra is scattered, but rest assured we will rebuild. And you will be invaluable to our efforts."

The soldier frowns, confused. The doctor-he is Hydra? But-but-

"Hydra is bad," he murmurs.

The doctor blinks. "What? No, Hydra is good. What lies have they been feeding you? It is Shield that is bad. You belong to Hydra, soldier."

The soldier-the soldier is confused. He-he is saying Hydra is good, but Steve said it was bad and who-who is right, how does he know but he thinks-he thinks he has always been Hydra's, he knew that, and now everything is confusing and not right and so yes, yes, he must be Hydra's, Hydra is right, they lied to him-

"Ready to comply."

The doctor smiles. "Good. Good job, soldier. Now, we must get you out of here and back to your true home." He stands up, coming around the table to stand next to the soldier as he reaches around and takes off the sling. "They have become lax in keeping you. Outside this door you will kill the people in the room, starting with Captain Rogers. Then you will protect me and get us out of this facility. Hydra agents are hitting this base and will help us to escape. Failure is not an option. Do you understand?"

Yes, this is-this is orders, this is simple, it is right, everything is simple, he only has to follow orders and they won't hurt him, but they-but they always hurt him, anyway, but he-he deserves it, he cannot question, just obey,  _obey-_

"Yes."

"Good. Let's go." The soldier stands up, moving towards the door with the doctor behind him. In one smooth motion he kicks the door down, pain flaring through his leg but ignore, ignore, don't react don't react-

Steve-Captain Rogers-whips around with the others in the room, shock turning to horror. The soldier goes for him first but someone gets in his way-the man with glasses and cane-and he lashes out with the metal arm, sending him flying to hit the wall and slide down, groaning on the floor. The other man shields the woman with his arm, pressed into the corner and the soldier ignores them, striking out at Steve as he blocks the soldier's attacks.

"Bucky," Steve breathes. "Bucky, you don't want to do this."

What. What. He bats Steve's hands away with a quick strike, wrapping a metal hand around his throat and shoving him against the wall as something-something twists within him-

"Who the hell is Bucky?" He searches Steve's face, breathing heavily, something-something on the edge of his memory but he doesn't-he doesn't know and he hesitates, metal hand loose around Steve's throat and Steve is-Steve is  _good,_ he doesn't-he doesn't hurt the soldier and he is gentle and-and kind and the soldier-the soldier doesn't  _want_ to kill him, he doesn't-

"Kill him," the doctor orders, coming to stand slightly to the right of him, the soldier turning his head slightly to see him.

"Remember what we talked about?" Steve asks quietly, voice choked from the pressure around his throat. "Hydra is bad. They make you do wrong things. Killing me is wrong."

"Don't listen to him," the doctor says sharply. "He's lying. You belong to Hydra."

The soldier looks between them, confused. He doesn't-he doesn't know who to believe it is-it is too much, he doesn't know, he  _doesn't,_ they are both-they are both giving him orders but he doesn't know which one to follow, who is right, what is he-what is he supposed to do, he wants it to stop, why won't it stop-

"Bucky." The soldier's eyes snap back to Steve's but he doesn't know why, he doesn't- "You don't have to do this. We can help you. That's all we want to do is help you. No one is going to hurt you. But the doctor is wrong. _Hydra_ is wrong. Just let me go and we'll figure it out, okay?"

"Soldier," the doctor's voice is dangerous. "Don't listen to him. Kill him."

The soldier is breathing harshly, body trembling with fear and confusion. He looks between Steve and the doctor again, taking hitching breaths and biting down on his lip hard as a small sound escapes. 

"I don't-I don't know," he chokes out. "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't-"

Steve's hands come up to wrap gently around the metal wrist. "Hey, it's okay. We'll figure it out." He meets the soldier's eyes. "Do you want to kill me right now?"

What. What. No, no he-he  _doesn't,_ he doesn't have wants but he doesn't want to kill Steve, he is-he is good and kind and he says  _I want to help_ and  _okay?_ and he doesn't-he doesn't punish the soldier and the soldier  _doesn't want to kill him-_

"You don't have wants," the doctor says. "You only follow orders. Kill him."

The metal hand tightens on Steve's throat as the soldier hitches a breath. Steve's hands are still wrapped around the wrist gently, not squeezing, and he is unresisting under the soldier's hand. His eyes are calm and blue and-and  _familiar_ and he is good and kind and the soldier-the soldier-

"No," he sobs. "No, no, I don't-I don't  _want_ to, I don't, no-"

The doctor moves and the soldier releases Steve suddenly, whirling in one motion to wrap the metal hand around the doctor's neck and squeeze, a crack echoing through the room as the doctor slides limply from his grasp and crumples to the floor, dead. The soldier staggers back, a heavy silence coming over the room broken only by his gasping breaths. 

"Bucky." The soldier turns, seeing Steve watching him warily, bruises forming around his throat. The soldier-the soldier did that, he almost killed Steve and that-that was  _wrong,_ Hydra was  _wrong,_ Shield is right and good and Steve is right and good and he-he will be punished,  _you are not allowed to attack your handler-_

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry, I-I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please-" The soldier drops to his knees, placing his hands behind his back and bowing his head as he waits for the punishment, numbness creeping into the edges of everything.

There's footsteps and Steve kneels in front of him, the soldier staring at the floor. "Hey, hey, you don't have to apologize. No one is going to hurt you. You did the right thing. You didn't kill me."

The soldier stays silent and still but suddenly there is loud noises outside, shouts and gunfire and the soldier looks up at Steve.

"Hydra agents are hitting the base."

Steve's eyes go wide and he straightens up. "Okay, Foggy and Karen go into the interrogation room and hide." They dart out of the corner and into the room, the door closing behind them. "Matt, are you okay to fight?"

Matt is leaning against the wall with one hand holding his ribs but he gives a thumbs-up. "I'm good."

Steve turns to the soldier. "They're here for you. I won't let them take you."

The soldier pushes himself to his feet smoothly, mind quieting. He has a mission: Protect Steve. 

The first agent breaches the door and the soldier moves forward, disarming him and taking his gun before shooting him and moving through the door and into a hallway as he takes down agents, mind blank of everything except fighting. Steve and Matt follow him, fighting back to back with the soldier as Hydra agents pour into the hallway. They take aim at Steve and the soldier pushes in front of him, deflecting the bullets with the metal arm as he returns fire with precision accuracy. He feels a bullet rip through his side but ignores it, focusing on taking down Hydra and protecting Steve. Finally the hallway is littered with agents and he and Steve and Matt are breathing heavily as they search their surroundings. There's running footsteps and they whirl around as three people come around the corner, two women and a man, two of them he recognizes from-from the Helicarrier, the man with wings and the woman with red hair but the other-the other he doesn't know-

They train their guns on him but Steve steps slightly in front of him, lowering his own gun.

"Whoa, who, he's on our side. We're all good."

They watch the soldier warily but slowly lower their guns. 

"Rest of the facility is pretty much clear," the woman he doesn't know says. "We knew they were after him-" she jerks her head at the soldier-"so we came as fast as we could."

Steve nods. "Yeah, they had an inside guy. The psychologist."

The man who had wings squints at Steve. "Looks like someone tried to strangle you." His eyes flick to the soldier and widen as he tightens his grip on his gun. "Oh, hell no. Steve, don't tell me he tried to kill you again. Cause from where I'm standing, he's not on our side."

Steve sighs. "Yeah, no, I hear you, but we're good now. He killed the psychologist and took out probably twenty Hydra agents. He's on our side. Trust me."

"He is," Matt confirms. 

All three are still looking at the soldier suspiciously.

"Watch out-!" Matt shouts and suddenly there's movement from one of the agents on the ground, the sound of a gun cocking and the soldier grabs Steve, pushing him behind him as a shot echoes through the hallway, the Hydra agent's arm falling slack again on the ground and the soldier seeing the three people's guns trained on him again in his peripheral vision as something hot and warm blooms in the right side of his chest. He looks down slowly, seeing the red stain spreading quickly through the white fabric over his chest but not feeling it. Suddenly he is swaying, the gun dropping from his hand to clatter on the floor as his knees buckle.

"Bucky? Oh god." Strong hands catch him, the world blurring slightly and the bright lights of the hallway making the soldier's head pound as he is lowered to the floor, Steve cradling his head. Footsteps sound as other people lean over him, their shapes blurring and voices echoing strangely. There is pain starting to bloom in the soldier's chest as the world comes back into focus, sharp, stabbing pain that makes everything else fade away and he tries to take a breath but chokes and wheezes ineffectively, coughing as something warm and wet spills over his lips. 

"-get Bruce!" Steve is yelling frantically, hands pressing down over the soldier's chest as footsteps run away. The soldier looks up, Steve's face swimming in his vision, eyes wide and worried. "You saved my life," Steve breathes. 

The soldier blinks slowly, limbs heavy and head fuzzy, wheezing as he tries to breathe through the tightness in his chest. There are dark spots floating before his eyes and he is tired, he is so tired-

"-ay with me, Bucky, stay with me." He opens his eyes to see Steve's face, not knowing when he had closed them. "Good," Steve says. "Just hold on. Help is coming."

There's running footsteps and then someone kneels next to him, the sound of gloves snapping on and rustling nearby. Fingers press against his throat, over his pulse, and then Steve's hands are moving as Bruce's figure swims in front of the soldier's eyes and then there is the flash of a needle and stabbing pain in his chest before the tightness decreases and he finally sucks in a full breath, something soft being pressed over his chest.

"Okay, let's get him on the stretcher," Bruce's voice says, and then there are hands lifting him, setting him down on something and the lights overhead flash by as they start to move, Steve's hands pressed to his chest again.

"Just hold on," Steve says breathlessly. "You're gonna be okay."

The lights start to blur and the soldier struggles to stay awake but darkness swallows him up as Steve's voice swirls away into nothingness.

***

He wakes slowly, a soft beeping in his ears. He is laying on something soft, slightly tilted up, and as he comes back to consciousness pain washes through him, slightly muted and fuzzy but still there, his chest burning with fire and every breath agony, his whole body pulsing with pain. He cracks open his eyes, something rustling on his right side.

"Hey," Steve's voice says. The soldier turns his head slightly, Steve resolving in his vision. He's sitting in a chair next to the soldier's bed looking exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and a tightness in his face as he stares at the soldier, finger-shaped bruises stark on his throat. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

The soldier blinks heavily, everything hazy and distant and mind muddled. "Hurts," he rasps, voice barely more than a whisper. Wait-no, that isn't-that isn't the answer, he thinks, there's something he's supposed to say- "Not-not functional."

Steve's eyes are sad. "I'm sorry. I know you must be in pain." He pauses. "I thought we were gonna lose you. You were in surgery for two hours."

The soldier just blinks slowly, not knowing how to respond or if he should-it wasn't a question but he feels like he should respond but he's so tired and he can't think and Steve-Steve is saying something-

"-want some more pain medication? It will probably knock you out again."

"Yes," the soldier answers without thinking and no-no, he doesn't have wants, he failed the test but Steve is pressing a button by the bed and everything goes floaty and his eyelids droop before he sinks into peaceful darkness again.

***

When he wakes again Steve is not there but the man with wings is, reading a book as he reclines in the chair next to the soldier's bedside. He looks up as the soldier turns his head, placing something in the book and closing it as he leans forward.

"Hey, welcome back to the world of the living. Steve's getting some much-needed sleep. You remember me?"

The soldier stares at him groggily, remembering tearing the man's wing off and kicking him off the Helicarrier. "Yes. I-sorry. Sorry."

The man smiles slightly. "It's all good. You took a bullet for Steve so I'd call us square. You know my name?"

"No."

"I'm Sam. You got something you want me to call you?"

The soldier frowns, confused. "I-no, I don't-I don't know, I don't-"

"That's okay. You mind if I call you Barnes? That's your real name, if you didn't know. James Buchanan Barnes. Apparently you called yourself Bucky, so that's what Steve calls you. I refuse to call you that dumbass nickname though."

The soldier-the soldier doesn't understand, he doesn't-he doesn't have a name, they can-they can call him whatever they want, he's not-he's not a person, he doesn't have a  _name-_

"I don't-I don't understand."

Sam's voice is calm. "What don't you understand?"

He searches for the answer through the fog in his mind. "I don't have a name."

Sam's expression tightens. "Listen man, that's what Hydra told you. That's bullshit, okay? You have a name, because you're a person, and you had a life before Hydra captured you. They erased your memory of it and told you that you didn't, but it was a lie. You follow?"

The soldier frowns. "I...yes?" He knows-he knows Hydra lied to him, he thinks, if Shield is good and Hydra is bad, but he doesn't-he's not a person, he doesn't have a name, it is-it is burned into his mind with pain and blood,  _you don't have a name_ and he can't-he can't have a name, it is too much, it is too much and it's terrifying and he doesn't want it, he doesn't want to have a name-

"-know that's a lot to take in. It's okay if you can't quite wrap your mind around it yet. We got time. You just focus on getting well, okay?"

He's too tired to do anything but repeat the answer that always works. "Yes."

"Alright. Bruce is gonna come in to check on your injuries." The door opens and Bruce steps through, smiling genially at the soldier.

"Hello. Heard you were awake. How are you feeling?" He steps up to the bed, fiddling with his glasses.

The soldier assesses. He is laying in a bed with the back tilted up, a blanket over his lap and bandages over his chest and side, something clipped to his finger and an IV in the crook of his arm. His chest burns and everything hurts, the other injuries not yet healed and his head fuzzy and aching, functionality significantly impaired.

"I am...not functional," he says.

Bruce sighs. "Right. Well, I should hope not. That shot punctured your lung, ripped up your chest cavity, and nearly killed you, on top of a minor gunshot wound in your side and your previous injuries. You shouldn't even be moving at all for a while. Can I check on your injuries?"

"Yes."

Bruce pulls on gloves and moves to his right side as Sam moves back, peeling the bandage away from the soldier's chest with careful fingers. The soldier can see the wound if he tilts his head down slightly, rows of black stitches over the wound where they must have done surgery, the skin mottled with bruising that spider-webs away from the center. Bruce examines the stitches carefully before nodding and re-dressing the wound.

"Okay, looks good. You have your healing factor to thank for your life. Anyone else would be dead after this shot. Let's look at the other one." Bruce moves to his other side, lifting the bandage where the bullet had grazed his side. There are more stitches there, neat and black, and Bruce re-dresses the wound efficiently.

"Alright, that's it for new injuries. Let's take a look at the old. You probably did some damage fighting on them, and I want to make sure they're not worse. How does the arm feel?"

The soldier looks over at his arm, frowning. It is...less painful than his chest, able to be ignored in comparison and dulled by the heavy fog over everything. But if he concentrates he can still feel the burning pain of the fracture, though it is less than before.

"More...functional?" he says hesitantly.

Sam speaks up. "Man, we really need to get you some new ways to communicate how you're feeling." He comes closer, the soldier's eyes flicking to him. "Okay, how about thumbs up for 'good,' which means no pain, flat hand for 'eh,' some pain but not bad, and thumbs down for 'bad,' or a lot of pain." He does the hand motions as he speaks, and the soldier feels relief at the explicit directive for communication. This, he can do.

Bruce nods. "Yeah, that works. Just know, you're on a lot of pain mediation so the pain will be way less than before. So, the arm, how does it feel?"

The soldier hesitates a moment before raising the metal hand and making it flat.

Bruce nods. "Okay. Just try not to move it and it should heal on its own. What about the knee?"

The soldier raises the hand again, flat.

 

"Ribs?"

The soldier keeps the hand flat.

"So you're still having some pain even with the medication. That's not great, but I'm hoping if you stop putting stress on your body the injuries should finally be allowed to heal. I'll take another scan tomorrow to make sure everything is healing correctly. Now, what about your leg and shoulder? I know there's nothing we can really do for them but I want to make sure you're not in too much pain."

The soldier raises the hand again, flat.

Bruce nods. "Okay. I'm sorry to hear that but I'm not surprised." He sighs. "You have...a lot of damage to your body. I'm surprised you could still function normally before...." He swallows. "Well, not really surprised given....but, well, you  _shouldn't_ have been functioning normally. You've likely had and will have chronic pain because of the damage done to your body and that's...that's not fun. You don't deserve this, and you shouldn't have to deal with this, especially at such a...at such a young age." Bruce looks pained as he meets the soldier's eyes. "I just want to say I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you, and I'm going to do everything in my power to help you. Okay?"

The soldier looks back at Bruce, who is good and kind and doesn't hurt him even though he is a doctor, the way no one here has hurt him. He thinks he has finally figured out the answer to the question. "Okay," he says.

 


End file.
